THE 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS 


OF 


JAMES  GATES  PERCIVAL 


rv 


JULIUS    H.   WARD 


BOSTON 

TICKNOR     AND     FIELDS 
1866 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 

TICKNOR     AND     FIELDS, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  :  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 

CAMBRIDGE. 


TO 


THE     JVC  IE  M:  O  R-  Y      OF 


MY    FATHER. 


979122 


vi  PREFACE. 

hands,  with  the  request  that  I  should  write  his 
life.  When  I  began  the  work,  several  years  later, 
amid  the  pressing  engagements  of  a  parish  priest, 
my  progress  was  slow  and  discouraging.  I  had 
never  seen  or  known  the  poet ;  and  had  not 
his  friends  generously  and  confidingly  come  to 
my  aid,  and  given  me  their  kind  assistance,  I 
could  not  have  gone  on.  Indeed,  my  work  has 
been  mainly  and  chiefly  the  editing  of  the  poet's 
own  letters  and  papers,  and  the  reminiscences 
of  those  who  knew  him  intimately.  Much  ma 
terial  was  furnished  by  the  partially  prepared 
memoir  of  the  late  Erasmus  D.  North,  M.  D., 
whose  work,  had  his  life  been  spared,  would 
have  been  a  far  more  complete  delineation  of  the 
poet  than  mine.  His  surviving  brother  has  freely 
imparted  to  me  facts  concerning  his  earlier  life. 
His  friends  in  New  Haven,  Professor  Noah  Porter, 
the  late  Professor  Silliman,  the  late  Edward  C. 
Herrick,  Professor  James  D.  Dana,  the  late  Pro 
fessor  Goodrich,  Henry  White,  William  G.  Web 
ster,  Benjamin  Noyes,  Charles  Monson,  and  Mrs. 
Aaron  N.  Skinner  have  assisted  me  whenever 
they  could;  and  I  am  indebted  to  many  other 
citizens,  whose  names  I  am  not  permitted  to  give, 
for  essential  help.  To  Professor  George  Ticknor, 


PREFACE.  Vll 

and  specially  to  Professor  William  C.  Fowler, 
who  procured  for  me  the  correspondence  with  Dr. 
Hay  ward,  and  to  Professor  Charles  U.  Shepard, 
who  kindly  allowed  me  to  use  his  article  in  the 
Atlantic  for  July,  1859, 1  am  under  great  obliga 
tions.  William  C.  Bryant,  Fitz-Greene  Halleck, 
and  Mrs.  Louisa  C.  Tuthill  have  each  supplied 
important  materials.  His  Western  friends,  Ed 
ward  M.  Hunter,  Lyman  C.  Draper,  and  J.  L. 
Jenckes,  M.  D.,  have  spared  no  pains  to  furnish 
me  with  valuable  information ;  and  many  whose 
names  I  have  given,  and  many  whose  names  are 
omitted,  have  done  this  voluntarily,  from  the  re 
spect  they  had  to  the  memory  of  Percival.  I  must 
here,  in  a  general  way,  acknowledge  the  mate 
rials  which  I  have  taken  here  and  there,  often 
without  mention,  from  magazines  and  newspapers, 
though  I  must  specially  refer  to  an  article  in  the 
New  Englander  for  May,  1859,  by  Edward  W. 
Bobbins  of  Kensington,  Connecticut.  Had  it  not 
been  for  such  ready  assistance,  the  work  could 
never  have  been  written. 

I  have  not  sought  to  conceal  the  peculiarities 
of  Percival,  or  to  tone  down  every  expression 
which  relates  to  others,  though  I  have  not  in 
tended  to  print  what  would  cause  pain  to  any 


Vin  PREFACE. 

one.  To  give  a  plain  and  true  narrative  of  the 
poet  as  he  lived  and  labored  has  been  my  only 
aim  and  purpose ;  and  I  cannot  part  with  a  work 
which  has  engaged  me  for  nearly  a  decade  of 
years,  and  which,  in  the  providence  of  God,  I 
have  been  spared  to  complete,  without  saying  that, 
with  all  my  studies  of  Percival, —  and  I  believe 
there  is  not  much  more  to  be  known,  —  the  sim 
ple  reverence  for  his  genius  and  attainments 
which  I  had  in  boyhood  has  increased  with  a 
riper  knowledge  of  his  character. 

J.  H.  W. 

S.  PETER'S  RECTORY, 
CHESHIRE,  CONN.,  July  17,  1866. 


CONTE  NTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

1795  - 1809. 
BIRTH  AND  EARLY  HOME.  —  PARENTAGE.  —  A  SCHOOL-BOY. 

—  EARLY  TASTES.  —  FONDNESS    FOR    BOOKS.  —  DEATH  OP 
HIS  FATHER.  —  AT  SCHOOL  IN  HEMPSTEAD.  —  EARLY  MEN 
TAL  TROUBLES.  —  PREPARING  FOR  COLLEGE         ...        1 

CHAPTER    II. 

1809,  1810. 

YOUTHFUL  POETRY.  —  THE  COMMERCIAD.  —  MANUSCRIPT 
BOOKS  OF  EARLY  POEMS 15 

CHAPTER    III. 

1810-1815. 

REVIEWS  HIS  STUDIES.  —  ENTERS  YALE  COLLEGE.  —  DR. 
WHEATON.  —  OFFERS  A  MANUSCRIPT  VOLUME  OF  POEMS 
TO  GENERAL  HOWE.  —  DISAPPOINTED  AND  LEAVES  COLLEGE. 

—  THE  SEASONS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.  —  BECOMES  A  FARMER 
IN  BERLIN.  —  GOES  BACK  AND  ENTERS  THE  NEXT  CLASS.  — 
His  NOTE-BOOKS.  —  LETTER    FROM    DR.    SPRAGUE.  —  His 
TRAGEDY  AT  COMMENCEMENT.  —  DR.  D WIGHT'S  ADVICE  .      23 

CHAPTER    IV. 

1815  - 1820. 

STUDIES  MEDICINE  AT  HOME.  —  GOES  INTO  SOCIETY  IN  HART 
FORD.  —  AN  EARLY  FRIENDSHIP.  —  WRITES  TO  DR.  IVES. 

—  IN  ILL  HEALTH.  —  WRITES   POETRY.  —  PRIVATE  TUTOR 


X  CONTENTS. 

IN  PHILADELPHIA.  —  STUDIES  LAW.  —  PARTLY  TRANSLATES 
A  WORK  ON  BOTANY.  —  AGAIN  A  TUTOR  IN  PHILADELPHIA. 

—  IN  LOVE.  —  TAKES  THE  DEGREE  OF  M.  D.        .        .        .      40 

CHAPTER    V. 

1820. 

LECTURES  ON  ANATOMY.  —  A  PHYSICIAN  IN  KENSINGTON.  — 
OFFERS  HIMSELF  TO  HIS  FORMER  PUPIL.  —  Is  REJECTED. 

—  IN  GREAT  MENTAL  DEPRESSION.  —  MASTERS  HIS  PASSION. 

—  His  RELIGIOUS  VIEWS-  —  ATTEMPTS  TO  COMMIT  SUICIDE      53 

CHAPTER    VI. 

1821,  1822. 

EARLY  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  —  PERCIVAL  AN  AUTHOR.  — 
THE  MICROSCOPE.  —  His  FIRST  VOLUME.  —  REVIEWED  BY 
EDWARD  EVERETT.  —  GOES  TO  CHARLESTON,  S.  C.  —  WRITES 
POETRY  FOR  THE  CHARLESTON  COURIER  ....  63 

CHAPTER    VII. 

1822. 

CLIO  No.  I.  —  His  POETRY  POPULAR.  —  COMES  BACK  TO  NEW 
HAVEN.  —  His  HABITS  IN  CONVERSATION  AND  IN  SOCIETY. 

—  WISHES  A  PROFESSORSHIP  IN  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY.  — 
LETTERS   TO   MR.  YVONNET  —  His  VIEWS   OF  WOMAN.  — 
DISAPPOINTED  IN  HIS  SUCCESS  AS  A  POET    ....      84 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

1822. 

PUBLISHES  CLIO  No.  II.  —  REVIEWED  BY  DR.  OILMAN.— 
WRITES  PROMETHEUS.  PART  II.  —  CRITICISMS  UPON  IT.  — 
RECOLLECTIONS  BY  PROFESSOR  FOWLER.  —  His  PHI  BETA 
KAPPA  ORATION Ill 

CHAPTER    IX. 

1822,  1823. 

PUBLICATION  OF  HIS  SELECTED  WORKS  —  CRITICISED  IN  THE 
CHRISTIAN  SPECTATOR.  —  THINKS  OF  TAKING  HOLY  ORDERS. 

—  LETTER  FROM  FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK.  —  TROUBLE  WITH 

A  PUBLISHER.  —  BECOMES  AN  EDITOR    .  ...    132 


CONTE.NTS.  xi 

CHAPTER    X. 

1823. 

LETTERS  TO  MR.  YVONNET.  —  PERSONAL  REVELATIONS.  — 
CLASSICAL  STUDIES.  —  His  POEMS  FINALLY  PUBLISHED  BY 
WILEY.  —  REPRINTED  IN  LONDON 153 

CHAPTER    XI. 

1823-1825. 

PROFESSOR  FOWLER'S  LETTER.  —  HE  ASSISTS  HIM  TO  A  PRO 
FESSORSHIP  AT  WEST  POINT.  —  Is  DISAPPOINTED  AND  RE 
SIGNS.  —  STATIONED  AS  UNITED  STATES  SURGEON  IN  BOS 
TON.  —  RETURNS  TO  LITERATURE.  —  His  ACQUAINTANCE 
WITH  DR.  HAYWARD 179 

CHAPTER    XII. 

1825,  1826. 

CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  DR.  HAYWARD.  —  AN  EDITOR  IN 
NEW  YORK.  —  His  PHI  BETA  KAPPA  POEM  AT  YALE.  — 

HOW  FAR  PATRONIZED  BY  THE  PEOPLE  AND  THE  GOVERN 
MENT.  —  THE  PREY  OF  NEWSPAPER  SCRIBBLERS.  —  His 
POEM  PUBLISHED  IN  BOSTON 213 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

1826. 

His  POEM  CRITICISED  BY  MR.  BRYANT.  —  ALSO  BY  HENRY 
WARE,  JR.  —  His  POETICAL  VIEWS.  —  His  PHILOSOPHICAL 
TEACHINGS 237 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

1826-1828. 

A  CHANGE  IN  HIS  EMPLOYMENTS.  —  ENGAGES  TO  EDIT  MALTE- 
BRUN'S  GEOGRAPHY.  —  His  LITERARY  POSITION  AND  PROS 
PECTS.  —  TALK  OF  ESTABLISHING  A  LITERARY  PAPER  IN 
BOSTON.  —  CLIO  No.  III.  —  ENGAGES  TO  SUPERVISE  THE 
PRINTING  OF  WEBSTER'S  DICTIONARY.  —  His  RELIGIOUS 
VIEWS.  —  THE  SEVERE  NATURE  OF  HIS  TASKS.  —  A  COR 
RECTOR  OF  BLUNDERS.  —  DR.  WEBSTER  AS  A  LEXICOGRA 
PHER  .  253 


xii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XV. 

1829  - 1831. 

THE  DICTIONARY  COMPLETED.  —  His  HOME  IN  BERLIN.  —  His 
WILL.  —  TROUBLE  WITH  A  PUBLISHER.  —  PROPOSALS  FROM 
WASHINGTON.  —  MALTE-BRUN  FINISHED  ....  292 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

1831-1834. 

STUDIES  IN  LANGUAGE.  —  A  POETICAL  SUMMONS  AND  HIS 
REPLY.  —  ATTEMPTS  A  NEW  EDITION  OF  HIS  POETRY.  — 
LETTERS  TO  PROFESSOR  TICKNOR.  —  His  POVERTY.  —  IN 
SEARCH  OF  LITERARY  EMPLOYMENT.  —  GOES  TO  BOSTON. 

—  FAILURE  TO  PUBLISH  HIS  POEMS.  —  ENGAGES  TO  WRITE 
THE    HISTORY    OF    THE    UNITED    STATES.  —  His    GERMAN 
VERSES.  —  CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LINGUIST.  —  THE  BASQUE     .    307 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

1834-1842. 

GEOLOGICAL  EXCURSIONS.  —  REMINISCENCES  OF  PROFESSOR 
TICKNOR. —  AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST. —  His  PECUNIARY 
TROUBLES.  —  RELIEVED  BY  A  LOAN.  —  REMINISCENCES  OF 
MR.  MONSON.  —  STEPS  TO  THE  GEOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF 
CONNECTICUT.  —  His  OWN  HISTORY  OF  THE  SURVEY.  — 
How  THE  REPORT  WAS  COMPLETED  AND  RECEIVED.  —  A 
LETTER  TO  SIR  CHARLES  LYELL.  —  REMARKS  IN  THE  JOUR 
NAL  OF  SCIENCE 341 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

1835-1843. 

REMINISCENCES  OF  PROFESSOR  SHEPARD.  —  A  LETTER  FROM 
PROFESSOR  DANA 382 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

1836-1843. 

STUDIES  IN  TRANSLATION.  —  A  MUSICAL  POET.  —  His  INTER 
EST  IN  POLITICS  AND  WHIG  SONGS.  —  ODE  TO  OLE  BULL. 

—  HUMOROUS  POETRY.  —  THE  DREAM  OF  A  DAY  AND  OTH 
ER  POEMS  .  423 


CONTENTS.  xiii 

CHAPTER    XX. 

1843-1852. 

His  HERMITAGE.  —  His  ROOMS.  —  FAVORITE  RESORTS.  —  STO 
RIES  OF  HIS  PECULIAR  LlFE.  —  PRIVATE  STUDIES.  —  HlS 

LIBRARY.  —  THE  PERCIVAL   CLUB.  —  SCIENTIFIC  AND  LIT 
ERARY  ENGAGEMENTS.  —  REMINISCENCES  OF  MR.  NOYES     .    462 

CHAPTER    XXI. 

1853-1856. 

GEOLOGICAL  LABORS  AT  THE  WEST.  — LETTERS  TO  MR.  HER- 
RICK.  —  His  HOUSE.  —  THE  WISCONSIN  SURVEY.  —  RELUC 
TANCE  TO  LEAVE  NEW  HAVEN.  —  LETTERS  FROM  HIS  WEST 
ERN  FRIENDS.  —  His  LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH.  —  TRIBUTES 
TO  HIS  MEMORY  ...  .  481 


APPENDIX. 

A.  PERCIVAL'S  GENEALOGY 621 

B.  PHI  BETA  KAPPA  ORATION 623 

C.  SPECIMENS  OF  EDITORIALS 540 

D.  A  PHILOSOPHER,  AND  LETTER  ON  CLASSIFICATION        .  548 

E.  CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  SILLIMAN'S  JOURNAL    ....  560 

F.  NATURAL  HISTORY 560 

G.  THE  PROPER  ORDER  IN  THE  STUDY  OF  LANGUAGES        .  563 
H.    HEXAMETER  TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER      .        .        .  565 

I.     A  SLAVONIC  EXCERPT 570 

J.    THE  ALUMNI  HYMN 578 


LIFE    AND    LETTERS 


OF 


JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL, 


CHAPTER   I. 

1795-1809. 

BIRTH  AND  EARLY  HOME.  —  PARENTAGE.  —  A  SCHOOL-BOY.  — 
EARLY  TASTES.  —  FONDNESS  FOR  BOOKS.  —  DEATH  OF  1119 
FATHER.  —  AT  SCHOOL  IN  HEMPSTEAD.  —  EARLY  MENTAL  TROU 
BLES.  —  PREPARING  FOR  COLLEGE. 


Birth. 


AMES  GATES  PERCIVAL  was  born  in 
Kensington  Parish,  in  the  town  of 
Berlin,  Connecticut,  according  to  his 
own  handwriting,  "  Tuesday  forenoon,  Sept. 
15,  1795." 

The  house  of  his  birth  is  still  standing.  It  is  a  plain 
wooden  building,  bordering  close  upon  the  street,  House 
with  a  long  sloping  roof  in  the  rear,  —  a  style  of 
dwelling  which  our  ancestors  brought  from  England.  It 
has  now  quite  other  tenants,  and  its  shattered  windows 
and  uneven  roof  and  weather-beaten  paint  show  the 
marks  of  age.  It  is  situated  in  one  of  the  most  romantic 
and  charming  regions  in  Connecticut.  Near  at  hand  is 
the  parish  church,  standing  on  an  elevated  site,  in  the 

1  A 


rhere  born. 


2  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  I. 

shade  of  fine  old  trees  of  buttonwood  and  oak,  its  low- 
steeple  cropping  out  just  above  their  tops  ;  in  front  of 
the  house  and  over  the  way  is  an  orchard  slope  ;  around 
it  are  patches  of  mowing  and  pasture  ;  and  at  its  foot  is  a 
beautiful  sheet  of  water,  which  turns  several  mills  in  its 
progress,  and  then  dashes  over  the  rocks,  and  winds  away 
among  green  meadows.  Farm-houses  are  scattered  every 
where  among  the  neighboring  eminences  and  in  the  val 
ley.  The  whole  neighborhood  is  remarkable  for  the  rich 
and  varied  beamy  of  its  scenery.  There  are  the  waving 
Native  swells  of  sandstone,  interrupted  and  crowned  by 
eoeae.y.  picturesque  precipices  of  trap,  "  with  scattered 
groves  and  wooded  hills."  Overlooking  the  house  is  a 
rounded  hill  of  considerable  height,  from  the  top  of 
which  can  be  seen  a  wide  country  around,  with  its  vil 
lages  and  spires  :  in  the  west  is  Southington  Mountain  ; 
extending  southward  are  the  Blue  Hills  of  Meriden,  with 
their  soft  and  varied  outline  ;  and  away  in  the  southeast 
rises  Mount  Lamentation,  memorable  for  a  mournful  le 
gend  which  gave  it  its  name.  Within  this  circuit  are 
many  quiet  pastoral  scenes.  They  are  beautifully  pic 
tured  in  Percival's  own  lines  :  — 

"  Groves  darkly  green,  white  farms,  and  pastures  gay 

With  flowers,  —  brooks  stealing  over  sand 

Or  smooth-worn  pebbles,  murmuring  light  away,  — 

Blue  rye-fields,  yielding  to  the  gentle  hand 

Of  the  cool  west-wind,  —  scented  fields  of  hay, 

Falling  in  purple  bloorn,  —  free  hearts  that  feel 

Their  being  doubled  in  their  country's  weal." 

"  Among  the  influences  which  should  be  mentioned  as 
Connecticut  having  moulded  the  youth  of  Percival  is  the 
ag?  yea  simplicity  of  character  and  manners  which  was 
a  marked  feature  of  his  native  town.  Fifty  years  ago 
Connecticut  had  no  towns  larger  than  what  would  now  be 


ISKS?']  PAKENTAGE.  3 

styled  villages.  The  people  were  not  rich,  neither  were 
they  poor,  or  wholly  illiterate.  Practically  democratic, 
they  prided  themselves  on  the  peculiar  designation  which 
their  small  State  had  acquired,  as  'the  land  of  steady 
habits,'  and  were  mostly  independent,  content,  and  happy, 
being  to  a  great  extent  free  from  the  evils  which  are  en 
gendered  by  a  highly  commercial  state  of  society.  Per- 
cival  compared  this  to  the  pastoral  state,  and  was  highly 
delighted  when,  in  later  year^,  being  employed  as  a  geolo 
gist  in  New  Brunswick,  he  discovered  the  same  style  of  life 
and  manners  in  a  district  which  had  been  settled  by  a 
company  of  Loyalist  emigrants  from  New  England."  * 

In  this  home  and  amid  these  attractive  surroundings  his 
earliest  years  were  spent.     His  father  was  the 

His  father. 

physician  of  the  place,  and  at  the  time  James 
was  born  had  been  established  some  six  years  in  his  profes 
sion,  and  had  secured  a  lucrative  practice.     Dr.  Percival 
was  born  in  East  Haddam,  where  his  ancestors  had  lived 
for  four  generations.     The  poet  traced  his  de-  Descended 
scent  on  the  Percival  side  to  James  Percival, 
who  about  1706  moved  from  Barnstable,  Massa- 
chusetts  Colony,  to  East  Haddam,  Connecticut.  Baron8' 
He  married  the  daughter  of  the  celebrated  Leyden  pas 
tor,  John  Robinson ;  and  his  grandfather  was  one  of  three 
brothers  who  came  over  from  England,  one  of  whom  set 
tled  in  New  London,  one  in  Plymouth  Colony,  one  in 
Barnstable.f     In  England  the  family  may  be  directly 
traced  to  the  Barons  who  lived  in  the  time  of  William 
the  Conqueror. 

His  mother's  maiden  name  was  Elizabeth  Hart.     Her 
family  had  lived  in  the  parish  of  Kensington  —  His  mother. 

*  Percival's  Poems,  Vol.  I.  p.  xviii. 
t  Appendix  A. 


4  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.          [CHAP.  I. 

a  hamlet  so  called  —  since  the  time  of  its  first  settlement. 
She  had  a  sensitive,  nervous  temperament,  and  was  in 
clined  at  times  to  melancholy ;  but  her  mind  was  strong 
and  keen  and  clear ;  and  she  added  to  her  native  gifts  a  bet 
ter  education  than  women  usually  had  in  those  days  ;  she 
had  good  literary  taste,  and  in  later  years  heartily  appreci 
ated  the  poetical  reputation  of  her  son.  Her  volumes  of  his 
poetry  are  thoroughly  worn  from  frequent  use.  His  father 
Character  of  was  ner  eclual'  He  had  a  strong  constitution 
his  father.  ancj  a  vigorous  mind.  He  easily  grasped  a  sub 
ject,  and  was  noted  for  keeping  his  own  counsel  and  doing 
things  entirely  in  his  own  way.  He  was  social  and  per 
suasive  in  society,  but  divided  his  time  mostly  between  his 
profession  and  his  home.  He  was  not  liberally  educated, 
but  he  had  a  taste  for  letters,  and  was  as  well  read  as 
most  Connecticut  doctors  in  his  day.  Except  in  winter, 
when  he  could  use  a  sleigh,  he  made  his  calls  on  horse 
back,  turning  his  saddle-bags  into  a  medicine-chest.  He 
was  prompt  in  business  and  eminent  in  his  profession.  It 
was  said  of  him  by  a  friend  :  "  Few  physicians  in  a  coun 
try  town  ever  performed  more  business  in  a  given  time 
than  Dr.  Percival.  This  may  be  asserted  of  him  both  as 
it  respects  his  whole  professional  life  and  also  his  daily 
visits.  With  a  practice  of  nineteen  years,  he  left  an  es 
tate  that  was  inventoried  at  fourteen  thousand  dollars." 
He  carried  into  whatever  he  undertook  that  personal  en 
thusiasm  and  untiring  devotion  which  inspire  success.  In 
religion,  he  was  only  a  member  of  the  church  by  bap 
tism,  falling  into  that  neglect  of  a  distinct  confession  of 
faith  which  Sir  Thomas  Browne  calls  "  the  general  scan 
dal  of  my  profession."  Nor  was  the  mother  a  communicant 
during  their  earlier  married  life.  But  the  influences  of 
their  home  were  moral,  if  not  distinctly  religious.  Few 


%'£&]  A    SCHOOL-BOY.  5 

families  in  those  days  of  Puritan  strictness  escaped  even 
the  outward  impression  of  religious  truth. 

Dr.  Percival  in  his  family  was  "  uniformly  kind,  affec 
tionate,  and  indulgent."  And  a  pleasant,  happy  home  it 
was  in  the  early  childhood  of  Jarnes,  —  the  father  busy 
always  with  an  ever-increasing  practice,  going  in  and  out 
among  his  children  with  cheering  words  and  Their  family 
kind  caresses ;  and  the  mother  teaching  them  hfe- 
in  the  intervals  of  household  work  their  first  lessons  in 
duty  and  knowledge.  She  was  very  fond  of  her  children  ; 
perhaps  not  the  less  so  from  the  fact  that  all  the  boys 
inherited  largely  her  own  temperament  and  endowments. 
The  eldest  child  was  a  daughter,  now  five  years  old,  —  "a 
child  dearly  beloved  by  all  who  knew  her "  ;  the  next 
was  Edwin  ;  the  next,  James  ;  the  youngest  was  Oswin. 
Of  these,  Oswin  alone  is  still  living.  They  were  all  so 
nearly  of  an  age  as  soon  to  be  company  for  each  other. 
They  were  each  peculiar  as  children ;  but  the  daughter, 
who  died  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  had  less  of  shyness 
and  reserve  than  the  boys.  Of  the  sons,  James  was  re 
markable  for  his  precocious  talent  and  amiable  James  notice3 
disposition.  From  a  mere  child  he  was  m-JJSSjwhen 
terested  in  outward  nature,  noticing  points  of  a  mere  chud' 
interest  in  natural  scenery  which  do  not  usually  attract 
children.  The  occasion  of  his  learning  to  read  and  the 
rapidity  of  his  progress  show  the  bent  and  powers  of  his 
mind  at  an  early  age.  At  a  time  when  he  could  only 
spell  his  words  with  difficulty,  he  received  a  book  at  the 
district  school  which  the  master  used  to  give  to  Learns  to 
some  deserving  scholar,  to  be  kept  till  the  fol-  Srict th 
lowing  Monday.  He  found,  by  spelling  through schooL 
its  first  sentences,  that  a  portion  of  it  related  to  astronomy. 
This  so  excited  his  interest,  that  he  set  diligently  to  work, 


6  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  I. 

and  by  dint  of  hard  study  was  able  to  read  the  chapter 
on  the  Monday  morning  with  a  good  degree  of  fluency. 
From  that  time  his  progress  in  his  studies  was  rapid. 
Another  anecdote  is  told  by  one  who  grew  up  with  him 
and  attended  the  same  school,  the  late  Horatio  Gridley, 
M.  D. :  "  When  I  first  went  to  school,  I  noticed  at  the 
foot  of  his  class  a  little  brown-haired  boy  who  had  just 
gone  from  the  head.  A  difficult  word  was  put  out  which 
no  one  could  spell.  It  came  finally  to  the  little  boy  at 
the  foot,  who  immediately  spelt  it  and  took  his  place 
again  at  the  head."  "  Among  his  companions,"  adds  the 
same  friend,  "  he  was  always  cheerful,  and  whenever 
meeting  them  in  his  solitary  walks  across  the  fields, 
always  had  a  smile  and  a  kind  word  ;  but  as  a  school 
boy,  he  never  entered  into  the  sports  and  amusements 
of  his  associates,  such  as  sliding,  skating,  and  playing 
ball,  in  which  boys  usually  indulge.  His  grandfather 
once  made  each  of  the  three  brothers  a  sled ;  but  while 
Edwin  and  Oswin  became  great  coasters,  James  never 
used  his.  I  never  knew  him  in  all  his  life  manifest  any 
excitement  or  anger,  or  have  any  difficulty  with  any  of 
the  boys.  He  was  remarkably  quiet  and  inoffensive.  He 
used  to  stay  in  the  school-room  at  noon,  when  the  other 
boys  were  at  play,  and  would  sometimes  complain  if  they 
made  too  much  noise.  He  seldom  went  out  at  recess." 
Another  friend,  the  late  Charles  Hooker,  M.  D.,  remem 
bers  him  as  "a  flaxen-haired  boy  coming  alone  to  school 
across  the  fields,  smiling  and  cheerful."  He  early  be 
trayed  a  shy,  shrinking  habit,  never  resenting,  but  rather 
avoiding  the  older  members  of  the  school,  if  they  did  him 
an  injury.  He  showed,  however,  a  purity  of  thought  and 
firmness  of  character  unusual  in  a  boy.  His  father,  to 
overcome  this  timidity,  once  put  him  on  horseback  and 


A    SCHOOL-BOY.  7 

rode  with  him  into  a  sham  fight.  It  threw  the  sensitive 
lad  into  convulsions.  Nor  could  he  bear  to  see  any  crea 
ture  suffer.  He  was  sent,  when  older,  alone  on  horseback 
to  visit  some  relations  in  Vermont.  He  had  not  gone  far 
when  the  horse's  back  became  sore  beneath  the  saddle. 
He  then  dismounted  and  went  on  foot ;  but  the  soreness 
still  increasing,  he  finally  took  off  the  saddle,  and  placing 
it  upon  his  own  shoulders,  led  his  horse  home.  An  old  lady 
tells  me  she  distinctly  remembers  him  as  he  came  up  the 
hill,  leading  his  horse  and  carrying  the  saddle. 

His  eagerness  to  learn  soon  led  him  beyond  the  limits 
of  the  district  school.  When  he  had  learned  to  read,  he 
devoured  eagerly  the  family  collection,  which  was  small ; 
for  books  were  few  and  costly  in  those  days.  He  was  then 
allowed  to  go  to  the  parish  library  kept  in  an  adjoining 
house.  One  day  his  parents  spoke  to  him  about  the 
study  of  geography ;  but  James  had  already  studied 
Guthrie's  Geography,  which  he  had  taken  from  the  li 
brary,  till  he  knew  more  about  it  than  his  teacher.  When 
he  was  only  eleven  years  old,  his  fame  for  these  studies 
was  such  that  the  neighbors  used  to  come  in  and  ask  him 
difficult  questions,  to  hear  his  answers.  He  was  already 
noted  for  the  ease  with  which  he  could  learn  his  lessons, 
his  superior  intelligence,  and  an  abstracted  turn  of  mind ; 
and  with  his  thoughts  continually  upon  the  histories,  biog 
raphies,  voyages,  and  romances  which  enriched  the  parish 
library,  his  days  at  school  grew  extremely  tedious  to  him. 
It  was  this,  and  not  the  common  infirmity  of  children, 
which  caused  him  to  creep,  "  like  a  snail,  unwillingly  to 
school."  Buried  in  these  books,  he  was  delighted  and 
happy.  He  read  eagerly  and  remembered  every-  A  g,^ 
thing.  This  was  when  he  was  nine  and  tenreader* 
years  old.  I  can  see  him  there  in  the  keeping-room  of 


8  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  I. 

his  father's  house,  sitting  studious  over  the  wars  of  Alex 
ander  or  the  pages  of  Josephus,  having  his  highest  joy  in 
living  in  the  wonder-land  of  history  and  romance.  But 
he  did  not  confine  himself  to  these.  He  read  everything. 
His  brother  Oswin  tells  me  that  he  had  the  skeleton  of  a 
goose  which  he  found  on  the  flat  below  the  house,  and 
that  he  knew  the  proper  names  of  all  the  bones,  and  had 
them  labelled  and  numbered.  He  also  showed  a  passion 
for  geology.  Down  by  the  water  there  were  curious 
stones  and  diamond-shaped  crystals ;  and  these  he  used 
to  collect  and  arrange. 

His  ways  at  this  time  were  peculiar.  He  would  not 
His  peculiar  eat  on  earthen  plates,  thinking  that  the  enamel 
broken  by  the  use  of  the  knife  upon  it  was  poi 
sonous.  He  was  early  very  simple  in  his  diet,  and  made 
no  trouble  in  the  family.  He  seldom  engaged  in  conver 
sation  at  home  ;  but  whenever  he  met  with  one  whom  he 
thought  appreciated  him,  he  would  open  his  stores  of 
learning  and  thought,  and  astonish  every  one  by  the 
variety  and  richness  of  his  conversation. 

By  the  margin  of  the  little  stream  he  used  to  spend 
much  of  his  time,  usually  alone.  Here  he  made  maps, 
upon  the  sand,  of  the  kingdoms  and  places  which  he  had 
His  imagina-  rea^  °£  using  the  pebbles  to  mark  the  bounda- 
tive  piaymgs.  rjes  an(j  pOSitjong  .  an(j  I^QJ-Q  he  marshalled  his 

armies  and  fought  his  mimic  battles.  "  At  this  period 
he  lived,"  says  the  Rev.  Royal  Robbins,  the  late  pastor 
of  Kensington  Parish,  and  in  younger  years  the  poet's  in 
timate  friend,  "  in  a  world  of  his  own,  —  an  ideal  world. 
He  knew  and  he  cared  very  little  respecting  the  real 
world  of  mankind.  His  cast  of  mind  was  highly  imagi 
native  ;  and,  aided  by  his  extensive  recollections  of  his 
tory,  geography,  and  other  reading,  he  lived  and  acted 


EARLY    TASTES.  9 

very  much  according  to  the  fancies  which  his  knowledge 
enabled  him  to  contrive.  Some  details  of  this  sort,  casu 
ally  given  by  the  poet  in  conversation,  would  surprise  one 
as  relating  to  a  boy  of  his  age,  and  instruct  the  student 
of  human  nature  in  regard  to  the  incipient  workings  of  a 
creative  and  poetic  mind.  Enveloping  himself  under  cir 
cumstances  of  Egyptian,  Grecian,  or  Roman  history,  or 
perhaps  the  chivalry  of  the  Middle  Ages,  or  as  it  might 
happen,  indulging  some  merely  arbitrary  creations  of  his 
fancy,  and  seated  by  a  stream,  or  wandering  in  the  woods, 
he  delighted  to  call  up  around  him  those  representations 
that  corresponded  with  the  realities  of  which  he  had  read, 
or  with  the  archetype  of  them  existing  in  his  own  mind. 
He  could  feign  to  himself,  in  perfect  keeping,  and  in  their 
true  costume,  the  figures  and  scenes  of  those  ages  past, — 
could  imagine  himself  to  be  conversant  with  them,  with 
such  depth  of  interest  as  scarcely  suffered  him  to  realize 
actual  life  and  its  wants.  And  in  his  poem  on  the  Pleas 
ures  of  Childhood  he  has  described  in  verses  of  great 
beauty  these  wanderings  of  his  fancy  :  — 

"  Along  the  stream,          nescribed  by 
That  flowed  in  summer's  mildness  o'er  its  bed     himself. 
Of  rounded  pebbles,  with  its  scanty  wave 
Encircling  many  an  islet,  and  its  banks 
In  bays  and  havens  scooping,  I  would  stray, 
And,  dreaming,  rear  an  empire  on  its  shores. 
There  cities  rose,  and  palaces  and  towers 
Caught  the  first  light  of  morning;  there  the  fleet 
Lent  all  its  snowy  canvas  to  the  wind, 
And  bore  with  awful  front  against  the  foe ; 
There  armies  marshalled  their  array,  and  joined 
In  mimic  slaughter;  there  the  conquered  fled;  — 
I  followed  their  retreat,  until  secure 
They  found  a  refuge  in  their  country's  walls ; 
The  triumphs  of  the  conqueror  were  mine, 
The  bounds  of  empire  widened,  and  the  wealth 
1* 


10  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  I. 

Torn  from  the  helpless  hands  of  humbled  foes. 
There  many  a  childish  hour  was  spent ;  the  world, 
That  moved  and  fretted  round  me,  had  no  power 
To  draw  me  from  my  musings,  but  the  dream 
Enthralled  me  till  it  seemed  reality; 
And  when  I  woke,  I  wondered  that  a  brook 
Was  babbling  by,  and  a  few  rods  of  soil, 
Covered  with  scant  herbs,  the  arena  where 
Cities  and  empires,  fleets  and  armies,  rose." 

This  kind  of  exercise  betrays  at  once  his  power  and 
his  weakness.  In  the  same  poem  he  alludes  feelingly  to 
the  harm  these  imaginings  did  him  :  — 

"  The  brighter  part 

Shone  out,  and  caught  the  wonder  of  the  great 
In  tender  childhood,  while  the  weaker  half 
Had  all  the  feebleness  of  infancy. 
A  thousand  wildering  reveries  led  astray 
My  better  reason,  and  my  unguarded  soul 
-Danced  like  a  feather  on  the  turbid  sea 
Of  its  own  wild  and  freakish  fantasies." 

All  these  amusements,  the  joyous  occupation  of  his 
The  death  of  childhood,  were  suddenly  broken  in  upon  and 
his  father.  ended  jn  january>  18Q7j  by  the  death  of  his 

father  in  the  prime  of  life.  It  was  a  time  when  the 
typhus  fever  was  prevailing  to  a  considerable  extent 
in  the  neighborhood.  "  Dr.  Percival  returned  from 
Southington,"  says  his  friend,  Dr.  Horatio  Gridley,  "  on 
Sunday  evening,  complaining  of  being  unwell.  On  Mon 
day  he  visited  some  very  sick  patients  in  Southington  and 
Worthington  ;  Tuesday  he  took  a  drive  in  his  sleigh  and 
visited  more  patients ;  Wednesday,  also,  contrary  to  the 
remonstrances  of  his  wife,  he  visited  a  very  distressed 
family  in  Worthington,  and  while  here  fell  asleep  sit 
ting  by  the  fire,  and  manifested  some  aberration  of  mind. 
He  returned  home  and  took  an  emetic  in  the  afternoon. 


FONDNESS    FOR    BOOKS.  II 

The  next  morning  he  sat  at  table,  and  took  some  tea 
in  his  mouth,  which  he  spirted  out,  and  shed  tears.  He 
arose  and  examined  his  tongue  by  the  glass.  Disease 
shortly  confined  him  to  his  house,  and  derangement  be 
came  permanent  during  the  latter  part  of  his  disease.  He 
died  January  21,  1807,  at  the  age  of  forty.  His  daughter 
died  of  the  same  disease  nineteen  days  after  her  father. 
She  had  a  protracted  illness  of  fifty-two  days.  Edwin 
was  taken  sick  the  night  his  father  died  ;  James  was  taken 
the  night  after  his  father  was  buried  ;  and  his  wife,  a  week 
before  her  daughter  died.  These  all  recovered  after  a 
long  confinement.  It  will  be  seen  that  the  mother  and 
three  of  her  four  children  were  sick  at  the  same  time. 
Dr.  Percival  came  down  to  the  grave  in  the  fulness  of 
life  and  in  the  midst  of  his  usefulness.  His  loss  was 
deeply  and  extensively  felt.  His  burial  was  with  Ma 
sonic  ceremonies." 

His  death  did  not  break  up  the  family,  though  the 
change  fell  heavily  upon  his  wife.  A  maiden  sister 
came  to  live  with  her,  and  she  undertook  herself  the 
education  of  her  boys  until  they  could  go  away  to  school. 
A  little  later,  James,  then  in  his  twelfth  year,  went  to 
school  two  quarters  to  the  Rev.  Benoni  Upson,  D.  D., 
the  village  pastor.  Then  James  and  Edwin  were  both 
placed  under  the  care  of  their  maternal  uncle,  James  at 


the  late  Rev.  Seth  Hart,  rector  of  St.  George's, 
Hempstead,  Long  Island.  He  kept  a  private  boarding- 
school,  afterwards  enlarged  to  an  academy,  for  preparing 
boys  for  college.  Here  James  began  the  study  of  Latin, 
and  here  his  insatiable  thirst  for  reading  was  renewed  on 
a  larger  scale.  He  used  to  send  by  the  stage-driver  to 
New  York,  a  distance  of  twenty-three  miles,  to  Hig  read_ 
obtain  books  from  a  circulating  library.  Here  ing- 


12  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  I. 

he  got  Mayor's  Voyages  and  Travels,  and  read  all  of  them ; 
and  there  lies  before  me  an  alphabetical  catalogue,  in  his 
own  cramped,  boyish  handwriting,  of  the  coveted  histories, 
biographies,  and  travels  which  belonged  to  this  library. 
In  this  same  little  blank-book  I  find  his  classification  of 
quadrupeds,  with  references  to  books  where  more  could 
be  learned  about  them ;  and  on  the  last  pages  there  are 
the  names  of  the  books  he  had  obtained  by  the  stage- 
driver  and  eagerly  devoured.  They  number  in  all  one 
hundred  and  seven  volumes,  including  Goldsmith's  Nat 
ural  History,  Smith's  Wealth  of  Nations,  the  French  Rev 
olution,  Kennet's  Roman  Antiquities,  the  Biographical 
Dictionary,  the  Dictionary  of  Arts  and  Sciences  in  ten 
volumes,  Ross's  Botany,  the  Laws  of  Nations,  and  the 
twenty-five  volumes  of  Mavor's  Universal  History. 

At  the  close  of  the  year  he  was  taken  from  Hemp- 
stead,  and  placed  in  the  family  and  under  the  tuition  of 
At  school  in  the  Rev.  Israel  Beard  Woodward,  of  Wolcott, 
a  town  adjacent  to  Kensington.  His  school 
fellow  here,  during  the  winter,  was  the  late  Rev.  Ed 
ward  Robinson,  D.  D. ;  and  a  friendship  then  sprang  up 
between  them  which  lasted  through  life.  Dr.  Robinson 
once  told  me  that  he  probably  wrote  his  first  poem  at  this 
time.  It  was  upon  an  unfortunate  girl  who  had  had  trouble 
with  a  village  carpenter,  and  became  the  butt  of  village 
scandal.  It  has  perished ;  but  though  mere  doggerel,  he 
said  it  was  very  amusing.  He  was  here  a  good  scholar, 
Likes  to  be  but  much  alone.  He  never  used  to  join  in  holi 
day  rambles  with  his  schoolmates  ;  but  if  they 
happened  to  stray  among  the  wild  and  solitary  regions 
near  by,  they  would  usually  find  him  communing  with 
himself  in  the  wildest  place,  at  the  foot  of  a  cliff,  or  upon 
the  bank  of  a  secluded  stream.  And  this  tendency  to 


EARLY  MENTAL  TROUBLES.        13 

solitary  walks,  to  commune  with  nature  and  not  with 
men,  was  only  the  further  development  of  his  earliest 
childish  tastes.  He  found  the  same  delight  on  Long 
Island  in  watching  the  ever-changing  features  of  the 
ocean.  The  impressions  made  upon  his  imagination  in 
these  rambles  were  so  vivid  and  distinct,  that,  years  after, 
he  wrote  them  off  as  if  by  inspiration  ;  and  this  is  the 
secret  of  the  peculiar  freshness  and  minuteness  and  beauty 
of  his  descriptive  poetry. 

At  this  time  began  those  mental  troubles  from  which 
he  was  never  entirely  free.     He  himself  accu-  nis  mental 
rately  describes  this  peculiar  condition  where  he  troubles- 
says  he  held 

"  A  middle  place  between  the  strong 
And  vigorous  intellect  a  Newton  had 
And  the  wild  ravings  of  insanity." 

There  is  reason  to  believe  that  his  uncle,  to  whose 
school  he  returned  at  the  expiration  of  the  year,  did  not 
quite  fathom  James's  pure  and  innocent  disposition.  He 
was  a  hearty,  vigorous  man,  fond  of  good  living.  His 
pupil  was  a  boy  so  shy,  so  thoughtful,  so  physically  en 
dowed,  that  he  needed  most  careful  and  delicate  Doe8  not  like 
treatment.  Because  he  ate  more  sparingly  than  his  te;icher- 
the  other  boys,  he  urged  in  his  hearty  way  more  food 
upon  him,  and  this  wounded  his  feelings.  One  day  at  a 
training  he  offered  James  a  glass  of  spirit,  which  was  in 
perfect  accordance  with  the  custom  in  those  days  ;  but 
.Percival's  sense  of  perfect  virtue  for  the  whole  of  his 
past  life  was  unpardonably  wounded.  He  found  his 
chief  enjoyment  not  in  his  studies  nor  in  the  society 
of  his  companions,  who  were  inclined  to  run  upon  him, 
but  in  the  histories,  voyages,  and  travels  which  had  before 
delighted  him.  In  allusion  to  the  teachings  of  his  uncle, 


14  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.          [CHAP.  I. 

in  a  poem  written  when  his  mind  was  morbid  and  dis 
eased,  and  when  he  saw  the  failures  of  his  teacher  in 
their  worst  light,  he  has  the  following  trenchant  lines. 
I  give  them  simply  to  illustrate  the  poet's  feelings.  They 
are  from  his  passionately  tragic  poem,  The  Suicide :  — 

An  anath- «  Ye  who  abused,  neglected,  rent,  and  stained 

That  heart,  when  pure  and  tender,  come  and  dwell 
On  these  dark  ruins,  and,  by  Heaven  arraigned, 
Feel,  as  you  look,  the  scorpion  stings  of  hell. 

"  But  no !  your  cold,  black  bosoms  cannot  feel ; 
Amid  the  rank  weeds,  flowers  can  never  blow; 
Your  hearts,  encrusted  in  their  case  of  steel, 
No  feelings  of  remorse  or  pity  know. 

"  Yes,  you  will  say,  poor,  weak,  and  childish  boy 
Infirm  of  purpose,  shook  by  every  sigh, 
A  thing  of  air,  a  light,  fantastic  toy,  — 
What  reck  we  if  such  shadows  live  or  die  ? 

"  But  no !  my  lip's  blood  calls  aloud  to  Heaven, 
The  arm  of  Justice  cannot,  will  not  sleep ; 
A  perfect  retribution  shall  be  given, 
And  Vengeance  on  your  heads  her  coals  shall  heap. 

"  Where  minds  like  this  are  ruined,  guilt  must  be, 
And  where  guilt  is,  remorse  will  gnaw  the  soul, 
And  every  moment  teem  with  agony, 
And  sleepless  thoughts  in  burning  torrents  roll. 

"  And  thou,  arch  moral-murderer!  hear  my  curse: 
Go,  gorge  and  wallow  in  thy  priestly  sty; 
Than  what  thou  art,  I  cannot  wish  thee  worse,  — 
There  with  thy  kindred  reptiles  crawl  and  die." 


CHAPTER   II. 


1809,  1810. 

YOUTHFUL.  POETRY.  —  THE  COMMERCIAD.  —  MANUSCRIPT  BOOKS  OF 
EARLY  POEMS. 

URING  his  second  stay  at  Hempstead  he  be 
gan  his  poetical  labors  in  earnest.     To  this 
time  I  refer  the  composition  of  an  elaborate 
mock-heroic  poem,  The  Commerciad,  The  Com. 
which  extends  to  two  thousand  two  hundred  merciad- 
and  sixty-eight  lines.     It  was  written  in  his  fourteenth 
year.     It  has  a  preface  of  one  hundred  and  ninety-seven 
lines,  in  which  he  invokes  the  Muse  with  various  plead 
ings.     It  begins  thus  :  *  — 

"  0  Poetry  Sweet  Muse  I  now  have  sung 
Some  wild  Untutor'd  Strains  but  not  among 
The  Polish'd  poets  of  th'  Augustan  Age 
Blind  Milton's  Fire  or  Homer's  Furious  Rage 
Old  Ossians  magic  song  ye  pallid  Ghost 
Great  Fingals  martial  &  most  warlike  host. 
Nor  yet  ye  Sweetness  of  Thompsonian  Strains 
His  yellow  cornfields  &  his  verdant  plains 
Nor  let  me  ever  be  ta'en  by  such  hope 
As  to  o'erpass  ye  lines  of  Easy  pope 
The  Wild  Confused  Strains  of  Drydens  mind 
Or  Grays  Sweet  Elegy  by  taste  refin'd 

*  These  extracts  are  given  in  exactly  their  shape  in  the  manuscript. 
It  is  written  throughout  in  a  large  school-boy  hand,  without  punctua 
tion  or  division.  It  shows  that  the  poem  was  never  revised,  and  that 
he  wrote  down  his  fancies  as  they  came  hot  from  his  mind. 


16  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.          [CHAP.  II. 

Hard  should  I  Work  &  I  should  labor  hard 
To  equal  with  my  pen  his  barb'rous  bard 
But  let  some  genius  mark  my  boyish  song 
And  lift  me  'bove  ye  common  scribbling  throng. 
Ne'er  let  me  poor  descend  to  Jackey  hornet 
Or  seek  my  bread  by  songs  in  poets  corner 
But  let  me  always  have  my  liberty 
Nor  like  Huge  Johnson  e'er  intpransus  be." 

Comparing,  in  the  same  preface,  the  pleasures  of  vice 
with  the  delights  of  poetry,  he  speaks  of  idle  lords, 

"  Who  tattle  with  the  Ladies  or  at  play 
Kill  father  time  &  waste  the  tedious  day 
Tedious  to  them  but  to  the  Studious  boy 
Each  coming  day  affords  him  real  Joy 
He  e'en  can  pleased  pass  ye  Day  alone 
And  When  its  pass'd  regrets  yt  it  is  done," 

and  gives  us  insight  into  his  own  boyish  life. 

The  Commerciad  begins  in  the  following  strain :  — 

"  Bland  Commerce  Noble  Theme  in  Yankey  Days 
Thy  frequent  praises  rouse- the  poets  lays 
Oh  Spotless  Maid  you  are  at  last  entrap'd 
In  a  Foul  Deed  oh!  that  it  Never  hap'd 
Happy  New  England  would  have  been  if  we 
Had  kept  the  Freedom  of  the  Land  &  Sea 
But  no  Democracy  that  Basest  Fiend 
A  Foe  To  order  t'  anarchy  a  Friend 
Has  set  the  people  by  their  Heads  and  Ears 
Till  they  have  left  it  roused  by  their  Fears 
That  the  best  Hopes  of  Fair  Columbia 
Should  be  subverted  in  Embargoe's  Day." 

The  poet  then  goes  on  to  picture  in  glowing  colors  the 
Remarks  advantage  of  commerce,  ascribing  to  it,  with 
upon  it.  youthful  ingenuity,  all  the  various  growth  and 
prosperity  of  the  nation.  His  descriptions  have  a  special 
point,  because  the  whole  country  was  then  suffering  from 
the  Embargo.  The  discussions  in  regard  to  this  act  prob- 


THE    COMMERCIAD.  17 

ably  led  him  to  select  Commerce  as  the  theme  of  his 
youthful  epic,  as  they  also  led  Mr.  Bryant  to  Takes  the 

J  j  J  same  gubject 

the  same  choice  in  his  first  poem  of  length.  It  as  Bryant. 
is  curious  that  both  these  poets  in  their  earliest  writings, 
while  subjects  had  not  been  suggested  by  the  deeper  in 
tuitions  of  their  own  mental  life,  should  have  written  upon 
nearly  the  same  topics.  Both  wrote  feelingly  and  largely 
of  the  times  ;  and  both  wrote  truthfully  of  New  England 
scenery.  The  range  of  PercivaPs  knowledge  at  this  early 
step  in  his  career  is  remarkable.  The  course  of  his  poem 
leads  him,  after  speaking  of  the  enlivening  effects  of  com 
merce  in  general,  to  dwell  minutely  upon  the  historical 
developments  of  the  several  States. 

In  recounting  the  heroes  of  Connecticut,  he  makes  the 
following  reference  to  its  politics  and  literature  :  — 

"  There  Hillhouse  born  our  countrys  rights  to  guard    A  tribute  to 
To  keep  our  People  from  the  Statutes  hard  SortS™' 

Of  Cursed  Jefferson  Son  of  the  Devil 
Whose  thoughts  are  wicked  and  whose  mind  is  evil 
There  D  wight  a  learned  Man  &  poet  too 
Who  Natures  Works  &  Arts  Improvements  knew 
Who  wrote  in  numbers  studied  &  terse 
And  Chanaan  grew  Illustrious  In  his  Verse 
And  Trumbul  Son  of  genius  &  of  worth 
Who  from  his  Storehouse  call'd  his  Treasure  forth 
In  sweet  Simplicity  Nature  he  hit 
And  his  McFingal  is  Extoll'd  for  wit 
There  Barlow  shines  the  Homer  of  our  age 
Genius  and  Elegance  adorn  his  page." 

He  explains  the  proverbially  steady  habits  of  Connec 
ticut  people  thus :  — 

"  When  Justice  and  Content  Europe  did  Ipave 
For  other  countries  they  their  Wings  did  Give 
T'  escape  the  Attacks  of  Hell  &  the  old  Leaven 
They  chose  Connecticut  instead  of  Heaven." 


l8  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  II. 

When  he  comes  to  Maryland,  he  gives  a  severe  rebuke 
A  rebuke  to  to  tne  slaveholder,  denouncing  slavery  with  the 
slavery.  honest  indignation  of  one  far  in  advance  of  his 
age.  He  takes  up  the  subject  with  even  more  vigor  in 
the  Seasons  of  New  England,  from  which  I  quote :  — 

"  Swains  of  New  England  you  I  call  to  stop 
That  horrid  trade  which  grows  in  human  blood 
And  from  the  oppressor's  iron  grasp  to  wrench 
The  crimson  scourge  dropping  with  negroe's  gore. 
Bid  o'er  your  swelling  hills  the  maples  rise 
And  spread  their  pleasing  verdure  to  the  sight 
Let  not  the  axe  resound  thro'out  their  groves 
But  leave  the  trunks  to  all  consuming  time 
Then  shall  the  tyrant  see  his  prospects  fail 
And  our  dear  land  his  blood  stain'd  produce  vie 
Then  will  the  slave  from  toil  &  hardship  free 
Beneath  the  spreading  Bohab  loudly  sing 
Thanks  to  New  England's  sons." 

Here  is  a  passage,  very  musical  and  sweet.  He  speaks 
of  places :  — 

"  Where  the  lone  Whipporwills  their  lays  prolong 
Mixing  Sweet  Melody  in  their  soft  song, 
She  thro'  the  night  her  mournful  Ditty  sings. 
While  Now  I  write  with  thrilling  sense  it  rings 
Thro'  my  charm'd  Ear  Delighting  all  my  soul 
Revolving  Strains  Melifluously  roll 
Perch' d  on  a  shrub  the  Joyed  Air  they  fill 
And  the  Still  Darkness  echoes  whip-poor-will." 

Such  are  a  few  extracts  from  this  long  epic  poem  in 
which  the  genius  of  Percival  first  shone  out.  It  has  but 
one  canto,  and  proceeds  in  one  undivided  strain  to  the 
end.  It  is  formed  upon  the  plan  of  the  ^Eneid,  with  a  touch 
here  and  there  which  indicates  his  earliest  poetic  read- 
Begins  to  ings.  It  is  said  that,  until  about  this  time,  he 
read  poetry.  never  rea(j  pOetry  .  Dut  when  once  its  treasures 


MANUSCRIPT  BOOKS  OF  EARLY  POEMS.  19 

were  opened  to  him,  he  read  with  great  eagerness.  His 
earliest  poets  were  Thomson  and  Bloomfield.  At  the 
close  of  The  Commerciad  he  addresses  the  critics  with 

mingled   fear   and   scorn.     This  was   his  own  A  poet  criti 
cising  him- 
opimon  of  the  poem  :  —  self. 

"  Know  then  ye  Critics  that  I  am  a  Boy 
In  Manners  meek  &  in  My  Actions  coy 
Who  labour  this  Just  to  exalt  my  credit 
Both  in  My  purse  &  fame  I  Now  have  said  it 
Snarl  on  ye  Critics  Bark  &  Snap  &  Growl 
With  all  the  Graveness  of  Minerva's  owl 
Say  that  it 's  wrote  in  barb'b'rous  hobbling  lines 
And  not  a  Spark  of  wit  thro'  that  Veil  shines 
Certain  a  Rude  &  Rural  poem  't  is 
And  Roughen' d  hideous  with  the  Rustic  phiz 
'T  is  a  hard  Subject  you  must  surely  own 
I  Never  should  Attempt  it  if  I'd  known 
The  Dryness  of  it.  ... 

A  Boy  of  Fifteen  years  to  toil  &  Work 
His  tedious  way  &  grope  &  feel  in  Dark 
An  Orphan  too  't  will  calm  your  Doggish  rage 
To  spare  my  first  attempted  blundering  page." 

Concerning  the  time  it  took  him   to  compose  it  he 

"  Forward  I  must  Haste 
To  end  this  first  Canto,  six  short  Weeks  are 
To  Write  this  poem  surely  very  spare." 

The  poem,  as  a  whole,  is  only  remarkable  as  a  youth 
ful  production.  The  couplets  are  far  from  perfect  in 
rhythm  and  flow ;  but  they  are  crowded  with  the  fruits 
of  his  early  readings,  and  already  we  find  traces  of  that 
soft,  gentle  touch  which  beautifully  marks  the  poetry  of 
his  riper  years. 

In  the  same  manuscript  volume  are  several  short  poems 
which  indicate  his  range  of  thought  while  at  shorter 
Hempstead.     The  first  of  these  is  named  «  Ef- 


20  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  II. 

fusions,"  intended  for  the  Gotharaites,  a  satire  upon  money- 
getting,  and  fashions,  and  modern  ways.  That  he  was  not 
yet  inspired  with  a  love  of  the  classics  is  evident  from 
the  following  lines  :  — 

"  'T  is  Strange  to  me  that  men  should  seek 
To  Learn  old  Latin,  Hebrew,  Greek 
Chaldee  &  Fifty  other  speeches 
Which  Never  lawyer  or  priest  preaches." 

Again   he   shows   his   deep  disgust  with  the  ancient 
tongues :  — 

"  For  what  I  care  I  '11  not  do  so 
Nor  think  there  's  fame  in  6  77  TO 
No  I  will  Ne'er  be  always  squatting 
Nor  Fumbling  over  greek  &  Latin 
On  Horse  Pegasus  I  will  prance 
In  Fields  of  Fiction  &  Romance." 

There  follow  a  "  Description  of  a  Great  Deist,  Thomas 
Catalogue  of  Paine,"  an  ode  "  To  a  Child  of  One  Year  Old," 

earliest 

poems.  and  to  "American  Poets,"  a  "  Song  written  on 
the  Fourth  of  July,"  an  "  Ode  to  Kensington  my  Native 
Place,"  and  a  second  "  Ode  to  my  Native  Place,"  "  A  Frag 
ment,"  describing  the  hills  of  Kensington,  "A  Satire  on 
some  Boys  at  the  School  where  I  wrote  these  Poems  who 
transformed  themselves  into  Horses  and  Auctioneers,"  a 
"Hymn  to  the  Creator,"  and  the  "Book  First"  of  "Homer 
Burlesqued."  They  are  mostly  rough  first  attempts,  here 
The  char-  a  ^me  of  beauty  and  there  mere  doggerel,  show- 
acter.  jng  ^^  ^Q  j^y  ]1R(j  not  yet  jeariie(j  ^o  distin 

guish  between  elevated  and  common  thoughts,  aiming  a 
An  Ode  to  good  deal  at  satire  and  sometimes  witty.  The 
Kensington.  «  Qde  to  Kensington  "  gives  a  vivid  picture  of 
his  early  tastes,  his  school-boy  trials,  and  the  beginning 
of  his  later  mental  troubles. 


MANUSCRIPT  BOOKS  OF  EARLY  POEMS.  21 

"  The  pleasant  vales 
The  fruitful  Dales 
Of  native  Kensington 
Thy  Hills  I  Hail 
Death  do  not  veil 
Them  from  me  pale  and  Wan 
'T  was  once  I  knew 
Contentment  true 
Nor  ever  pride  I  Had 
But  Now  I  sigh 
I  seek  the  Sky 
With  Greatness  I  run  mad 
I  once  was  meek 
My  book  to  seek 
Employ 'd  the  Summers  day 
If  Drowning  rain 
E'er  Drench'd  the  plain 
I  Help'd  to  save  the  Hay 
The  Bleating  sheep 
I  Joy'd  to  keep 
To  see  them  eat  the  corn 
With  Rosy  face 
And  Mind  of  Grace 
I  Early  rose  I'  the  Morn 
But  Now  I  'm  pale 
My  Morals  fail 
My  Health  to  sickness  grows 
My  Shruggish  Blood 
Scarce  flows  its  flood 
I  fear  the  Slightest  Wind 
I  once  was  fond 
T'  improve  my  mind 
By  reading  useful  Books 
And  when  I  knew 
My  Task  I  Flew 

To  see  my  Fathers  smiling  looks. 
But  Now  I  Hate 
I  feel  so  great 
My  Masters  to  obey 
Democracy 
And  Liberty 
Forever  I  do  say 


22  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  II. 

T  once  Knew  not 

The  drunken  sot 

The  proud  I  Did  not  know 

I  Knew  not  then 

The  Leering  ken 

Nought  but  Affections  glow 

No  more  I  Hear 

Of  Friends  so  Dear 

I  Know  the  Drunkard  Vile 

I  Know  the  Great 

Who  scorn  my  state 

Nor  feel  Affections  smile 

Detested  now 

I  Am  cast  low 

The  Scorn  of  richer  boys 

No  more  I  see 

Those  who  love  me 

I  Know  no  real  Joys 

But  May  retreat 

My  Sorrows  greet 

And  Wipe  away  the  Tear 

Which  now  does  flow 

While  I  'm  so  low 

And  Give  me  Friends  so  dear 

No  more  regret 

My  soul  shall  Whet 

To  equal  Nobles  Great 

My  heart  so  meek 

Eetreat  shall  seek 

And  Think  no  more  of  State." 

The  difficulty  of  assimilating  himself  to  the  ways  of 
At  Hemp-  otner  ^°YS  at  the  district  school  reappears  in  his 
etead.  life  at  Hempstead,  where,  while  indulging  so 
freely  his  desire  for  reading  and  his  poetic  ambition,  he 
became  the  sport  of  the  wealthier  boys  from  New  York. 
Here,  too,  he  was  by  himself ;  he  dwelt  apart. 


CHAPTER    III. 

1810-1815. 

REVIEWS  HIS  STUDIES.  —  ENTERS  YALE  COLLEGE.  —  DR.  WHEATON. 

—  OFFERS  A  MANUSCRIPT  VOLUME  OF  POEMS  TO  GENERAL  HOWE. 

—  DISAPPOINTED  AND  LEAVES  COLLEGE.  —  THE  SEASONS  OF  NEW 
ENGLAND.  —  BECOMES  A  FARMER  IN  BERLIN.  —  GOES  BACK  AND 
ENTERS  THE  NEXT  CLASS.  —  HlS  NOTE-BOOKS.  —  LETTER  FROM 
DR.    SPRAGUE.  —  His    TRAGEDY    AT     COMMENCEMENT.  —  DR. 
DWIGHT'S  ADVICE. 

AMES  now  returned  home  to  Kensington, 
having  taken  the  usual  three  years  in  pre 
paring  for  college.  The  spring  and  summer 
were  spent  with  the  Rev.  Joab  Brace,  D.  D., 
of  Newington,  Connecticut,  where  he  reviewed  Reviews  his 
his  classical  studies.  Dr.  Brace  describes  him, studies- 
at  the  age  of  sixteen,  in  his  family,  as  "  a  fair  and 
pleasant  youth,  delicate  in  his  complexion,  rather  shy  and 
retiring,  soft  and  lisping  in  conversation,  neat  and  beau 
tiful  in  his  dress,  gentle  in  his  manners,  lovely  in  his 
whole  deportment."  His  peculiar  disposition  won  the 
affections  of  those  who  had  the  care  of  him ;  while  his 
mental  troubles,  his  unbounded  passion  for  general  knowl 
edge,  his  sensitiveness  to  praise,  his  ignorance  of  the  world, 
his  consciousness  of  rare  gifts  now  developing  itself,  in 
creased  their  sympathy.  The  same  instructor  further 
remarks :  "  He  was  delicate  in  his  feelings,  sensitive  to 
any  impropriety,  quick  to  discern  and  very  ready  Notweii  pre- 
to  feel  every  kindness.  He  was  not  so  well  fitted  college. 


24  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  HI. 

for  college  as  some  of  his  companions ;  but  the  defect  was 
owing  to  his  youth  and  to  his  not  "having  been  thoroughly 
introduced  into  the  specific  and  minute  things  of  the  Latin 
grammar;  but  his  industry,  keenness,  and  retentiveness 
soon  made  the  ground  all  clear.  He  was  a  youth  of  great 
inquisitiveness  and  observation."  It  was  also  PercivaFs 
own  opinion  in  after  years,  that  the  course  of  his  prepar 
atory  studies  was  not  very  judiciously  prescribed. 

In  the  early  autumn  of  1810  he  entered  himself  at 
Entered  Yale  Yale  College,  New  Haven,  as  a  member  of  the 
oiiege.  Freshman  Class.  This  institution  was  then  in 
the  high  tide  of  prosperity  under  the  management  of 
President  Dwight,  who  now,  in  the  maturity  of  his  pow 
ers  and  the  height  of  his  reputation,  had  succeeded  in 
inspiring  both  the  faculty  and  the  students  with  his  own 
glowing  earnestness  and  high  ambition.  The  other  offi 
cers  of  the  college  were  the  venerable  Jeremiah  Day,  the 
next  President  of  the  Institution  after  Dr.  Dwight,  the 
late  Benjamin  Silliman,  the  father  of  American  science, 
Yale  Col-  and  James  L.  Kingsley,  so  long  known  as  the 
Latin  Professor.  They  were  assisted  by  six 
tutors,  among  whom  were  Josiah  W.  Gibbs  and  Chauncey 
A.  Goodrich,  both  afterwards  Professors,  and  men  to 
whose  labors  the  College  has  been  largely  indebted. 
The  number  of  students  then  averaged  seventy  to  each 
class.  In  the  studies,  the  ancient  languages  had  the  pref 
erence,  and  the  modern  physical  sciences  had  almost  no 
foothold.  In  the  Senior  Year  the  time  was  largely  con 
sumed  by  divinity  and  rhetorical  studies  ;  and  a  special 
feature  under  Dr.  Dwight  was  the  general  class  debates, 
in  which,  acting  as  umpire,  he  drew  out  the  talents  of 
young  men,  and  instructed  them  in  the  practical  art  of 
reasoning. 


JSfiBl  DR.    WHEATON.  25 

The  following  letter  from  the  late  Rev.  Dr.  Wheaton, 
formerly  President  of  Trinity  College,  Hartford,  Connec 
ticut,  gives  a  pleasant  picture  of  his  earlier  college  life. 

TO   THE  EDITOR. 

MARBLEDALE,  (NEW  PRESTON,)  June  25,  1860. 
DEAR  SIR  :  — 

During  the  greater  part  of  Freshman  year,  1810  —  11, 
Percival  occupied  the  same  room  with  myself  college 
and  my  friend  Averill,  long  since  gone  to  his  life- 
rest.    The  peculiar  traits  of  character  which  distinguished 
him  later  in  life  were  strongly  developed  at  that  time,  but 
not  in  the  same  degree. 

His  manner  of  life  while  with  us  was  something  like 
what  I  am  about  to  relate.  On  leaving  the  breakfast-hall, 
he  would  go  out  on  a  long,  solitary  walk  in  the  suburbs,  re 
turning  about  an  hour  before  the  eleven  o'clock  recitation, 
when  he  would  steal  silently  into  the  chamber,  unlock  his 
desk,  and  write  a  few  minutes,  making  a  record  as  we  sup 
posed  of  the  poetic  inspirations  which  had  visited  him  in 
his  rambles.  This  done,  he  would  return  his  paper  to  the 
desk,  lock  it,  and  take  up  the  text-book  of  the  subject  of 
the  next  recitation.  This  he  would  look  at  for  half  an 
hour,  silent  and  motionless,  when  he  was  fully  prepared, 
whatever  the  subject  might  be.  After  tea,  the  solitary 
walk  would  be  repeated,  and  sometimes  prolonged  till  late 
in  the  evening. 

During  all  the  time  we  were  inmates  he  rarely  took 
part  in  conversation,  his  mind  seeming  to  be  always  pre 
occupied,  and  dwelling  apart  in  a  world  of  its  own.  Yet 
he  was  uniformly  amiable  and  sometimes  even  cheerful ; 
and  would  occasionally,  when  encouraged,  read  to  us  a 
few  lines  of  what  he  had  written.  Neither  I  nor  my 
2 


26  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  III. 

friend,  however,  suspected  to  what  an  extent  the  poetic 
passion  had  possessed  him;  till,  in  the  summer  of  our  Fresh 
man  year,  it  was  rumored  in  college  that  he  had  offered  a 
manuscript  volume  of  poems  to  General  Howe  for  publica 
tion  ;  which  was  declined,  with  something  meant  for  good 
advice.  This  brought  upon  him  the  raillery  of  the  college 
boys,  which  deeply  wounded  his  sensitive  nature ;  and  to  a 
question  from  one  of  us  as  to  the  truth  of  the  report,  and 
some  remark,  perhaps,  not  complimentary  to  his  discre 
tion,  he  burst  into  a  passionate  flood  of  tears,  and  sobbed 
out,  "I  don't  care,  I  will  be  a  poet."  After  that  we 
were  careful  how  we  touched  the  tender  spot.  His  mor 
tification  was  extreme,  as  much  probably  at  the  publicity 
of  this  youthful  escapade  as  at  his  failure  to  appear  as 
an  author.  It  must  be  remembered  that  he  was  at  this 
time  very  young,  —  not  more,  I  should  think,  than 
sixteen.  During  the  short  remainder  of  the  term  he 
seemed  to  shun  more  than  ever  all  intercourse  with  the 
students  ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  term  withdrew  from  the 
college,  returning  on  the  following  year,  and  entering  the 
next  class.  It  would  be  difficult,  I  apprehend,  to  prove 
that,  during  his  whole  collegiate  course,  though  perfectly 
inoffensive,  and  disliked  by  none,  he  ever  unbosomed  him 
self  even  in  the  slightest  degree  to  any  one  of  his  com 
panions.  The  inner  history  of  his  mind  at  this  period 
will  never  be  written. 

Very  respectfully  yours, 

N.  S.  WHEATON. 

The  manuscript  volume  here  referred  to  was  The  Sea- 
Offers  poetry  sons  °^  ^ew  England,  with  other  miscellaneous 
Bter^wwch"  Poems-  It;  wa3  first  snown  to  Noah  Webster, 
is  rejected.  ^he  lexicographer,  with  the  request  that  he 


SEASONS    OF    NEW    ENGLAND.  27 

would  sanction  its  publication.  The  incident  took  place  in 
General  Howe's  bookstore,  situated  where  the  New  Haven 
Hotel  now  stands  ;  but  Dr.  Webster  advised  him  to  wait, 
and  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  publish  it.  He  afterwards 
handed  it  to  General  Howe.  It  was  considered,  in  those 
days,  such  an  act  of  presumption  for  a  shy  Freshman 
to  think  of  publishing  a  volume  of  poetry,  that  the  Gen 
eral  gave  the  volume  back  to  Percival  unexamined,  with 
a  rebuke  for  his  audacity,  The  refusal,  without  even  con 
sidering  the  merits  of  the  poetry  at  all,  deeply  wounded 
him.  As  Dr.  Wheaton  has  shown,  and  as  will  appear 
from  the  testimony  of  others,  the  poetic  passion  had  now 
taken  deep  hold  of  him  ;  and  for  Percival  to  fail  or  be 
bluntly  refused  was  a  terrible  blow  to  his  ambition.  Dr. 
Gridley  adds,  "  By  some  few  of  his  college  acquaintances 
he  was  always  addressed  in  rather  an  unfeeling,  persecution 
taunting  manner  by  the  appellation  of  Poet "  ;  followius ifc- 
and  he  himself  once  said,  "  I  obtained  the  respect  of  the 
Freshman  Class  by  writing  satirical  verses  against  some 
of  my  classmates  who  had  commenced  persecuting  me." 
"  His  failure  in  publishing  verses  and  the  persecution  fol 
lowing  it."  Dr.  Gridley  says,  "  was,  in  reality,  the  true 
cause  of  his  leaving  college  for  a  year  " ;  but  he  Leave8  col. 
did  not  go  away  till  the  spring  of  his  second  lege* 
year's  residence. 

This  poetry  which  he  offered  to  General  Howe  for 
publication,  The  Seasons  of  New  England,  was  The  Seasons 
probably  written  at  college  during  his  Fresh-  iand.ew 
man  year,  and  embodies  his  intercourse  with  nature  in 
the  beautiful  suburbs  of  New  Haven  and  his  own  native 
Kensington.  It  was  plainly  suggested  by  Thomson's 
Seasons  and  Bloomfield's  Farmer's  Boy,  is  written  in  the 
same  measure,  and  follows  the  same  plan.  He  did  not 


28  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  HI. 

complete  it ;  only  Winter  and  a  portion  of  Spring  were 
finished.  It  would  appear  that  he  put  it  by  in  grief  when 
his  volume  was  rejected.  The  reader  will  notice  in  a  few 
extracts  from  it  given  below  an  increased  power  of  dis 
criminating  the  true  from  the  false  in  poetry,  and  much 
sweetness  and  softness  in  the  flow  of  the  lines.  He  de 
scribes  the  approach  of  winter  :  — 

"  Now  the  tall  trees  that  once  were  covered  o'er 
With  pleasing  green  their  naked  branches  wave 
(When  rage  the  furious  winds)  &  mutely  mourn 
Their  Summer  robes  which  yield  unto  the  pow'r 
Of  Winter  and  in  Autumn's  fading  hour 
Strow  the  pale  sick'ning  fields,  the  barren  wastes 
And  rivers  slowly  gliding  thro'  the  meads 
Or  roaring  'mong  the  crags  that  stop  their  course 
Until  the  congregated  waters  join 
Their  boist'roug  forces  &  wildly  rage  &  foam 
And  burst  away  &  thunder  to  the  plain." 

He  alludes  to  the  silence  of  the  season  :  — 

"  The  murmuring  rivulet,  the  furious  stream, 
And  thundering  cataract  are  silent  all; 
Or  else  the  trav'ler  hears  a  hidden  sound 
That  rumbles  underneath  the  icy  robe 
Which  clothes  the  placid  lake  &  roaring  brook." 

The  following  picture  of  New  England  life  fifty  years 
Poetical  pic-  ago   is   still   true  in   many   parts   of  Connec- 

ture  of  the       , . 

olden  time.      tlCUt  :  — 

"  The  careful  swain  who  knows  the  coming  storm 
And  sees  dire  Winter  thron'd  on  rolling  clouds 
And  blowing  desolation  from  his  mouth, 
Secures  the  tender  sheep  in  the  close  pen 
And  plentifully  deals  the  rowing  hay. 
Nor  does  he  disregard  the  lowing  ox, 
And  patient  cow,  who  feed  upon  the  stalks 
Of  Indian  corn,  or  else  the  well-cur'd  grass 
Which  in  the  blooming  Spring  bedeck'd  the  mead 
Sprinkled  with  yellow  dandelion's  flow'rs. 


SEASONS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.       29 

The  Horse  neighs  loudly  for  his  provender, 

The  Swine  squeal  for  their  wonted  food,  the  fowls 

Crowd  'round  the  kitchen  door  &  cackling  eat 

The  scattered  crumbs.    Meanwhile,  the  cheerful  swain 

Whistles,  as  he  performs  his  varied  task 

And  feels  more  real  joy  than  monarchs  know. 

When  he  has  stor'd  his  wood  &  milk'd  his  cows 

He  fills  his  kettle,  stirs  the  enlivening  flame 

And  ready  gets  his  frugal  homely  meal. 

First  shakes  he  in  the  flour,  &  agitates 

The  mixture  with  his  pudding  stick,  until 

The  bubbles  indicate  that  it  is  done; 

Then  on  the  plate  he  pours  the  steaming  food, 

Prepares  the  luscious  milk  which  satisfies 

His  healthy  appetite,  nor  does  he  feel, 

While  he  partakes  this  dish  with  his  fond  wife 

And  hearty  children,  half  those  fears  which  sour 

The  splendid  courtier's  life.     His  supper  past, 

He  solemn  says,  '  Thanks  to  Almighty  God 

And  to  his  suffering  Son  for  this  repast ' ; 

Then  laughs  away  the  night  in  guiltless  mirth : 

Or  else  he  tells  those  feats  which  he  perform'd 

Against  the  base  marauding  British  bands, 

Until  he  sees  the  blush  glow  on  the  cheek, 

The  hand  rise  high,  as  if  to  strike  the  foe, 

And  honest  manly  pride  swell  the  young  mind." 

He  marks  the  absence  of  the  birds  :  — 

"  The  fields  are  mute,  no  more  the  robin  sings 
No  more  the  bluebird  cuts  the  yielding  air 
No  more  the  airy  swallow  rapid  wheels 
No  more  the  whippoorwill  beneath  the  hedge 
Tunes  her  sweet  throat  &  vocal  makes  the  eve.'' 

And  again  the  absence  of  stirring  life  :  — 

"  No  more  the  reapers'  cheery  song  is  heard 
No  more  the  plough-boy  whistles  o'er  the  lea 
No  more  the  varied  sounds  of  Industry 
Fall  on  the  ear,  the  cider  presses  creak 
The  rattling  mill,  the  frequent  thumping  flails 
And  the  sharp  tinkling  of  the  mower's  scythe." 


30  JAMES    GATES    PEECIVAL.         [CHAP.  III. 

The  gathering  of  neighbors   on  a  winter  evening  is 
here  pleasantly  touched  on  :  — 

"  Now  frequent  from  the  lowly  cot  the  laugh 
Shouts  loud  where  gather  round  the  blazing  fire 
The  friendly  neighbors.     Then  the  tale  of  war 
Is  told  by  some  old  hoary  headed  man, 
When  often  sparkles  strong  his  beaming  eye 
And  oft  his  arm  with  violence  thumps  his  crutch. 
Then  some  young  maiden  innocently  coy 
Tunes  her  sweet  voice  &  sings  her  strains  of  love, 
The  grandam  tells  unto  the  wond'ring  child 
Stories  of  ghosts  &  fairies  till  he  starts 
At  his  own  shade  &  fears  to  look  behind. 
Again  the  jest  is  echo'd  round  the  room 
And  shouts  the  laugh  unfeign'd;  the  cider  then 
Foams  in  the  well  scour'd  tankard;  apples  sweet 
And  streaked  with  ruddy  tints  delight  the  taste 
And  joy  and  friendship  brighten  ev'ry  eye." 

These  passages  give  but  an  inadequate  idea  of  the 
Characteris-  poem.  It  is  B.  great  advance  upon  the  Corn- 
poem,  merciad  in  the  smoothness  of  the  verse  and  the 
sustained  vigor  of  the  pictures;  but  there  is  the  same 
minute  information,  the  same  delicacy  of  touch  (for  one 
so  young),  the  same  accurate  and  poetical  picturing  of 
nature.  In  this  poem  nothing  that  belongs  to  a  New  Eng 
land  winter  in  the  country  has  escaped  him ;  and  there 
are  frequent  touches  which  show  a  devout  recognition  of 
God  in  the  changes  and  beauty  of  the  seasons.  Yet  with 
all  its  merits  it  falls  many  degrees  below  his  subsequent 
works,  having  its  chief  value,  even  here,  as  a  step  in  the 
unfolding  of  his  poetical  genius.  It  is  curious  to  observe 
thus  early  the  length  of  his  sentences,  winding  in  and  out 
with  many  convolutions  ere  they  end,  yet  never  ungram- 
matical,  —  like  the  prose  sentences  of  Rufus  Choate,  and 
showing  a  mastery  of  language  in  many  respects  as  won 
derful  as  his. 


BECOMES    A    FARMER.  31 

Coming  home  to  Kensington  in  the  spring  of  1812, 
he  gave  up  his  studies,  and,  procuring  for  himself  a 
suit  of  coarse  clothes  and  cowhide  shoes,  de-  Becomes  a 
termined  to  become  a  farmer.  His  mother  had  farmer> 
now  been  married  to  Mr.  Samuel  Porter,  who  was  a 
farmer  in  the  town  of  Berlin,  but  not  in  Kensington 
Parish,  and  he  went  to  live  with  her  and  assist  in  the 
labor  of  the  farm.  But  here  he  was  uneasy;  and  al 
though  always  willing  to  work,  he  was  often  moody  and 
dejected,  and  would  sometimes  go  away  into  the  woods 
or  to  a  neighboring  town  for  several  days,  without  the 
knowledge  of  his  friends.  His  peculiarly  excitable  tem 
perament  led  him  to  strange  freaks  and  sudden  unex 
pected  movements.  He  would  throw  down  his  rake,  for 
instance,  on  a  summer  afternoon,  and  running  with  frantic 
leaps  to  the  house,  would  shut  himself  up  for  hours ;  but 
many  of  his  wanderings  were  no  doubt  due  to  his  desire 
to  explore  strange  localities  as  a  student  of  nature.  In 
the  winter  he  attempted  to  teach  school  in  Wolcott,  a 
neighboring  town  ;  but  he  soon  became  disgusted,  and 
threw  up  his  employment ;  and  his  desire  to  resume  his 
studies  growing  strong,  he  soon  after  rode  down  to  New 
Haven  on  a  load  of  apples  which  his  brother  Returng  to 
was  taking  to  market,  and  entered  the  class  collese- 
next  to  the  one  he  had  left. 

In  this  his  reputation  had  preceded  him,  and  he  was 
better  appreciated.     It  was  in  this  year  he  had  nasthe 
the  measles.     Dr.  Ives  came  and  left  him  some  measles- 
pills.     Percival  made  a  great  ado  about  them.     He  could 
not  swallow  a  pill ;  but  his  classmate,  and  roommate  dur 
ing  Junior  and  Senior  years,*  deceived  him,  and  gave 
him  a  bread  pill.     It  made  Percival  angry. 
*  Julius  S.  Barnes,  M.  D. 


32  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.          [ CHAP.  III. 

He  used  now  often  to  send  in  his  poetry  to  be  read  at 
Appears  as  tne  meetings  of  the  debating-society  known  as 
a  poet.  tne  Brothers  in  Unity,  of  which  he  was  a  mem 
ber,  and  one  poem  caused  considerable  excitement  at  the 
time.  It  was  the  outline  of  what  was  afterwards  pub 
lished  as  the  First  Part  of  Prometheus ;  and  the  late  Ed 
ward  Everett  said  of  it,  when  it  was  formally  published 
a  few  years  later :  "  Not  a  few  of  these  verses  have  all 
the  dark  sententiousness  of  Byron,  clothed  in  an  uncom 
monly  easy  versification."  He  used  also  to  post  up  his 
poetry  anonymously  about  the  college,  and  listen  eagerly 
to  hear  what  was  said  of  it. 

He  was  eminent  for  his  mathematical  abilities.    On  the 

A  good         college  holidays,  Wednesday  and  Saturday  after- 
mathematical  J'  J 
scholar.        noons,  he  used  to  study  Hutton  s  Mathematics 

as  a  recreation  ;  and  "  on  a  certain  occasion  he  solved,  at 
the  last  moment,  while  the  bell  was  ringing  for  recitation, 
the  celebrated  Catholic  proposition  in  Spherics,  in  Web 
ber's  Mathematics,  a  feat  which  none  of  his  classmates 
succeeded  in  performing."  * 

In  the  last  two  years  of  his  college  life  he  roomed  in 
the  fourth  story  and  northwest  corner  of  what  is  now 
called  Old  South-Middle  College.  The  rooms  were 
then,  as  now,  largely  inhabited  by  rats  and  mice  that  had 
fashioned  doors  of  entrance  in  every  corner,  and  one  of 
these  they  killed ;  but  Percival  was  so  overcome  by  the 
thought  of  taking  the  life  of  a  living  creature,  that  he 
mourned  its  loss  as  if  it  had  been  a  human  bein<r.  He 

O 

was  morbidly  sensitive  to  pain  ;  and  he  used  to  say  that 
he  felt  as  if  he  were  made  of  glass,  and  should  tumble 
in  pieces  if  any  one  touched  him. 

Dr.  Barnes  adds  his  testimony  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Wheaton's 
*  Percival's  Poems,  Vol.  I.  p.  xix. 


HIS    NOTE-BOOKS.  33 

as  to  Percival's  high  rank  in  his  class :  "  He  wrote  poetry 
during  some  of  his  leisure  hours  on  Wednesday  and  Satur 
day  afternoons  for  amusement,  and  occasional  pieces  when 
requested  by  his  friends ;  but  never  allowed  his  poetical 
effusions  to  interfere  with  his  regular  studies  Hig  po9ition 
and  college  duties.  He  made  himself  a  com- in  his  class> 
plete  master  of  all  his  lessons,  and  so  far  as  scholarship 
was  concerned,  ranked  as  high  as  any  in  the  class.  He 
made  no  effort  at  display,  and  very  unfortunately  had  an 
impediment  in  his  speech,  (it  might  be  termed  sibilant,) 
which  caused  him  to  appear  at  a  disadvantage  in  his  reci 
tations  and  in  all  his  public  exercises.  I  do  not  recollect 
that  on  any  occasion  his  powers  were  called  into  exercise 
to  show  his  superiority  before  the  President.  His  ac 
quaintance  with  him  was  only  that  of  students  in  general ; 
and  I  am  not  certain  that  he  knew  anything  of  his  poetical 
talents  while  he  was  in  college.  In  his  compositions  and 
disputations  before  the  class  he  was  always  respectable,* 
though,  I  think,  on  the  subjects  which  were  given  him  to 
discuss,  he  did  not  think  or  express  himself  so  strongly 
as  to  make  any  very  lasting  impression.  His  superiority 
as  a  scholar  was  acknowledged ;  but  his  extreme  sensitive 
ness  kept  him  from  forming  many  acquaintances,  though 
he  was  in  fact  of  an  eminently  social  disposition." 

In  these  two  latter  years  of  his  course,  his  note-books 
show  that  he  was  a  careful  listener  to  lectures,  His  college 
and  that  he  brought  away  all  he  heard.     One  note-books- 
book  is  devoted  to  eighty-four  Lectures  on  Chemistry  by 
Professor  Silliman,  mainly  abstracts,  but  often  surprisingly 
full.     It  is  curious  to  go  over  them  now,  and  see  how  the 

*  It  is  said  that  he  read  them  in  so  low  a  tone  as  often  to  call  out 
the  remark  from  Dr.  Dwight,  "  Head  up  louder,  Percival.  You  have 
nothing  to  be  ashamed  of." 

2*  e 


34  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  III. 

late  Nestor  of  American  Science  treated  such  topics  over 
fifty  years  ago.  They  are  probably  the  only  full  sketch 
of  those  Lectures  now  in  existence.  Another  has  a  care 
ful  account  of  the  Lectures  on  Natural  Philosophy  given 
by  Professor  Day  ;  and  on  the  last  fly-leaf  is  a  long  list 
of  Scotch  music  in  the  same  early  handwriting.  An 
other  is  devoted  to  exercises  in  writing  Latin.  Another 
contains  some  Lectures  on  History,  and  also  on  Language, 
by  Professor  Kingsley.  The  commonplace  books  of  his 
Senior  year,  under  Dr.  D wight,  are  still  more  carefully 
written  out,  and  embrace  a  wide  variety  of  subjects. 
There  is,  first,  "A  System  of  Rhetoric  compiled  from 
Blair's  Lectures  and  Dr.  Dwight's  Remarks,"  in  which 
the  suggestions  of  the  living  teacher  may  easily  be  de 
tected  ;  in  the  same  connection  also  are  some  notes  on 
Logic.  There  are  notes  of  Lectures  on  Moral  Philoso 
phy.  There  is  one  book  devoted  mainly  to  the  famous 
Disputes  and  Decisions  by  Dr.  Dwight,  in  which  the 
arguments  pro  and  con  of  his  classmates  are  noted  down, 
followed  by  the  decisions  of  the  President.  The  topics 
are  the  same  as  those  contained  in  the  volume  of  Dis 
putes  published  by  his  nephew  some  years  later.  It 
contains  also  some  notes  on  the  chief  modern  English 
poets,  evidently  Dr.  Dwight's  criticisms ;  and  over  one 
hundred  and  sixty  "  Scotch  Airs  and  Words  adapted  to 
them."  There  is  another  book  devoted  partly  to  a 
"  System  of  Theology  from  Vincent  and  Dr.  Dwight," 
and  partly  to  a  very  full  abstract  of  Linne's  Systema 
Natura,  and  filled  up  in  the  centre  with  later  biblio 
graphical  notes  of  the  titles  and  names  of  all  the  works 
ever  published  relating  to  the  different  languages  of  the 
world.  There  is  a  still  larger  quarto  manuscript  volume 
of  three  hundred  pages,  which  is  written  full,  in  his 


LETTER    FROM    DR.    SPRAGUE.  35 

cramped,  close  chirography,  with  further  notes  of  his 
college  lectures  and  studies.  It  contains  very  careful 
notes  of  "Mr.  Silliman's  Private  Lectures  on  Miner 
alogy,"  of  "  Mr.  Kingsley's  Lectures  on  History,"  of  a 
Treatise  on  Husbandry;  a  full  Treatise  on  Botany, 
with  extensive  notes  of  Dr.  Ives's  Lectures ;  "  A  View 
of  the  Natural  Orders  of  Linnaeus  from  the  Encyclopaedia 
Britannica " ;  "  Additional  Genera  from  Shaw's  General 
Zoology  "  ;  the  "  Natural  Families  of  Vegetables  "  ;  a 
Continuation  of  Professor  Silliman's  Lectures  on  Chem 
istry  ;  and  very  complete  notes  of  "  A  System  of  Chem 
istry  by  John  Murray,  Vol.  II."  There  is  another  book 
devoted  entirely  to  "  An  Epitome  of  Wilson's  Ornithol 
ogy";  and  another  is  partially  filled  with  a  work  on 
"  Zoology  compiled  from  Shaw,  Buffon,  and  Pennant." 
These  extensive  studies  of  an  undergraduate  Extengive 
confirm  the  remark  of  one  of  his  classmates : studies- 
"  I  never  knew  one  who  could  acquire  correct  knowledge 
quicker  than  Percival."  Here  he  laid  largely  and  liber 
ally  the  foundation  of  that  accurate  and  wide  learning  in 
which  he  was  unrivalled.  Save  in  the  department  of 
metaphysical  studies,  no  subject  on  which  he  could  gain 
information  escaped  him. 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  written  by  the  Rev. 
William  B.  Sprague,  D.  D.,  to  the  Editor  of  Letter  from 

-r»        ••!»-¥-»  -*ir        -r  m-r-i-iT  the  Rev.  Dr. 

Percival  s  Poems,  Mr.  James  T.  1  lelds,  com-  Sprague. 
pletes  what  may  be  now  gathered  concerning  his  college 
life  :  "  He  was  not  in  my  division,  so  that  I  was  not  ac 
customed  to  hear  him  recite  until  his  Senior  year  (when 
we  both  came  under  the  instruction  of  Dr.  D  wight),  but 
he  always  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  good  scholar. 
He  was  of  about  the  middle  size,  of  light  complexion, 
of  an  agreeable  face,  that  did  not  easily  change  its  ex- 


36  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  III. 

pression,  and  as  shy  as  the  most  modest  little  girl  you 
ever  saw.  He  seemed  to  be  essentially  of  a  solitary  turn. 
You  would  rarely  see  him  walking  with  anybody;  and 
when  he  walked  at  all,  it  was  usually  in  some  retired 
place.  I  think  he  had  few  acquaintances  in  college, 
though  I  never  knew  that  he  had  any  enemies ;  and  the 
fact  that  his  intercourse  was  so  circumscribed  was  doubt 
less  to  be  attributed  to  constitutional  reserve,  and  not  to 
the  consciousness  of  his  own  superiority.  Everybody 
looked  upon  him  as  a  good-natured,  sensitive,  thoughtful, 
odd,  gifted  fellow.  He  wrote  a  good  deal  of  poetry  in 
college,  and  some  of  it,  I  think,  he  gave  me  ;  but  nobody 
then,  I  believe,  dreamed  of  the  eminence  to  which  he  was 
destined.  He  was  a  great  reader,  and  I  used  to  be  sur 
prised  at  the  extent  of  his  information  on  a  great  variety 
of  subjects.  I  remember  once  having  occasion  to  prepare 
a  college  exercise  on  the  subject  of  the  Crusades  ;  and 
happening  to  mention  to  Percival  that  I  needed  to  in 
crease  my  knowledge  of  the  subject  a  good  deal  before 
writing  upon  it,  he  at  once  put  into  my  hands  an  elaborate 
essay  on  the  Crusades,  which  showed  a  familiarity  with 
the  history  of  that  whole  period  that  amazed  me." 

In  the  class  appointments,  he  once  said,  he  deliberately 
avoided  trying  for  the  valedictory,  —  the  highest  honor, 
—  and  determined  to  take  the  second.  Being  no  speaker, 
His  com-  however,  he  received  only  an  English  oration. 

mencement 

oration.  His  subject  was  a  discussion  of  "The  Compara 
tive  Value  of  a  Scientific  and  Military  Reputation."  The 
slight  offered  to  his  elocution  stimulated  his  pride,  and 
"  accordingly,"  he  said,  "  I  took  much  pains  to  prepare 
myself ;  I  practised  myself  in  distinctness  ;  /  articulated 
my  words."  The  result  showed  his  ability  ;  for  President 
Dwight  remarked  to  him,  "  Why,  Percival,  I  wish  I  had 


jgfa.]         TRAGEDY    AT    COMMENCEMENT.  37 

known  you  were  able  to  speak  so  well,  we  would  have 
given  you  the  Valedictory"  *  And  when  he  delivered 
his  oration  at  Commencement,  the  Doctor  said  to  a  friend 
that  Percival  was  the  most  remarkable  scholar  he  had 
known  for  many  years.  Percival  always  said  that  he 
was  not  properly  estimated,  and  did  not  have  justice  done 
to  him  in  his  college  appointment.  He  expected  from  his 
scholarship  that  he  would  have  the  offer  of  a  tutorship. 
But  this  his  peculiar  manners  prevented.  Says  Dr. 
Barnes :  "  He  was  very  desirous  of  praise  or  the  good 
opinion  of  mankind." 

In  addition  to  his  graduating  oration,  he  wrote  and 
took  an  active  part  in  a  tragedy,  "  of  merit,  and  Writes  a 
full  of  fire,"  remarks  Dr.  Gridley,  who  saw  it,  frasedy- 
"  and  having  the  unusual  accompaniment  of  a  dagger, 
which  he  used  himself  with  the  skill  of  an  accomplished 
tragedian."  It  was  afterwards  published  in  his  first  vol 
ume  of  poetry  under  the  title  of  Zamor.  The  scene  is 
laid  in  Spain  in  the  time  of  the  Moors.  It  is  a  story  of 
love  and  passion  and  murder,  but  hardly  worthy  of  a  place 
beside  his  more  finished  efforts,  though  a  theatrical  man 
ager  in  Philadelphia  once  proposed  to  put  it  on  the  stage. 
In  the  unusual  bustle  of  Commencement,  Percival  was 
busy  in  preparing  his  tragedy ;  and  the  late  Professor 
Olmsted  well  remembered  sleeping  in  a  large  room  with 
him  and  several  others  the  night  before  Commencement, 
and  how  the  youthful  poet  got  up  from  his  couch  after  he 
supposed  the  others  were  all  asleep,  and  paced  the  floor 
silently  in  the  moonlight  while  going  over  his  part. 

The  venerable  President  Day  tells  me  that  the  only 
censure  ever  applied  to  Percival  in  college  was  peculiar 
for  writing  some  verses  on  one  of  the  pillars  in  ways- 
*  Percival's  Poems,  Vol.  I.  p.  xix. 


38  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  III. 

the  Chapel  during  prayers.     Percival  thought  he  did  not 
deserve  it. 

His  dress  was  always  a  little  peculiar.  In  college  he 
wore  light  clothes  in  summer,  gray  in  winter.  When  he 
went  home  to  become  a  farmer  the  rustiest  clothes  were 
not  bad  enough  for  him  ;  and  when  he  was  ready  to  return 
to  college,  the  best  broadcloth  was  hardly  good  enough. 
He  had  a  new  gray  suit  at  Commencement.  While  others 
wore  their  hair  long,  he  had  his  short;  while  others 
shaved,  he  allowed  his  beard  to  grow  ;  and  throughout 
life  he  never  blacked  his  shoes. 

One  or  two  stories  are  told  by  Dr.  Gridley  in  regard 
to  this  period  of  his  life  which  are  worth  preserving: 
"  Percival  was  no  joker.  But  I  remember  in  one  in 
stance  when  we  were  returning  from  college  at  the  close 
of  the  term  in  the  same  carriage,  and  had  passed  on  Wal- 
lingford  plains  a  shabby,  seedy-looking  man  with  a  jug 
(rum  probably),  he  remarked,  'That  man  has  got  his 
indispensable.'  In  those  days  the  bags  or  satchels  car 
ried  in  their  hands  by  the  ladies  were  called  '  indispen- 
sables/ 

"  I  do  not  recollect  ever  seeing  Percival  ride  or  drive 
a  horse,  but  I  have  the  very  best  reason  to  know  that  on 
one  occasion  he  did  undertake  it.  Near  his  home  was  a 
very  high  and  regularly  formed  rise  of  land,  known 
as  Turkey  Hill,  commanding  an  extensive  and  beau 
tiful  prospect  from  its  summit,  and  withal  of  so  regular 
and  gradual  ascent,  that  the  apex,  on  which  was  a  soli 
tary  white-oak,  could  be  reached  without  difficulty  not 
only  on  horseback,  but  in  a  carriage.  It  was  free  from 
stones  and  rocks,  and  was  cultivated  to  the  very  top.  On 
a  certain  time,  in  college  vacation,  I  believe,  Percival  in 
vited  a  couple  of  young  lady  friends  to  take  a  carriage 


DR.    DWIGHT'S    ADVIQE.  39 

ride  to  this  romantic  spot,  and  enjoy  the  rich  view.  They 
were  in  the  village  some  three  miles  from  the  hill.  He 
called  for  them,  helped  them  into  the  carriage,  entered 
himself,  and  took  up  the  reins  ;  and,  lo  !  the  horse  was  in 
the  position  of  a  certain  animal  of  old,  '  tied '  fast  to  the 
post,  and  needed  to  be  loosed  before  he  could  go.  I  had 
some  years  after  the  authority  of  one  of  the  young  ladies 
for  this  statement." 

There  is  a  page  in  one  of  his  Senior  note-books,  headed 
"  Dr.  Dwight's  Advice,"  written  so  badly  I  can  Dr  Dwi  ht,a 
hardly  decipher  it,  but  which  appears  to  be  a  advice- 
synopsis  of  his  parting  lecture  to  Percival's  class.  It 
urges  strongly  upon  the  young  men  that  they  should  all 
engage  in  some  active  work,  teaching  or  business,  if  they 
had  nothing  else  in  view,  on  leaving  college.  It  is  pos 
sible  this  was  also  given  to  Percival  alone.  For  he  once 
intimated  to  a  friend  that  President  Dwight  truly  read 
his  character  in  a  remark  which  he  made  to  him  on 
leaving  college.  It  was  in  substance  this :  "  Percival, 
you  must  engage  in  some  active  employment,  or  you  are 
a  ruined  man." 


CHAPTER    IV. 

1815-1820. 

STUDIES  MEDICINE  AT  HOME.  —  GOES  INTO  SOCIETY  IN  HARTFORD. 
—  AN  EARLY  FRIENDSHIP.  —  WRITES  TO  DR.  IVES.  —  IN  ILL 
HEALTH,  —  WRITES  POETRY.  —  PRIVATE  TUTOR  IN  PHILADEL 
PHIA.  —  STUDIES  LAW.  —  PARTLY  TRANSLATES  A  WORK  ON  BOT 
ANY.  —  AGAIN  A  TUTOR  IN  PHILADELPHIA.  —  IN  LOVE.  —  TAKES 
THE  DEGREE  OF  M.  D. 

ITH  his  diploma  in  hand,  Percival  now  came 
home  to  Kensington  to  enjoy  in  that  beautiful 
region  the  delicious  lull  and  pause  which  is 
usual  with  young  men  before  they  engage 
actively  in  the  study  of  a  profession.  Dr.  Dwight's  ad 
vice  was  fresh  in  mind ;  and  he  at  once  gave  himself  to 
Choosing  a  ^e  choice  of  a  calling.  His  own  tastes  and  the 
profession,  example  of  his  father  led  him  to  the  study  of 
medicine.  And  his  choice  was  further  aided  by  an  in 
terest  in  botany,  which  from  a  child's  fondness  for  flowers, 
had  lately,  in  his  Senior  year,  been  changed  into  the  eager 
passion  for  riper  knowledge,  which  he  gratified  by  study 
ing  in  leisure  hours  with  his  friend  Dr.  Ives,  with  whom 
botany,  aside  from  his  profession,  was  an  all-absorbing 
studies  pursuit.  His  father's  successor  in  Berlin  was 

wither?       Dr-  Ward-      He   had>  for  the  times>   a  larSe 
Ward.          medical  library ;  and  Percival  modestly  asked 

leave,  one  day,  to  come  and  "  look  over  his  books."     It 
was  readily  granted  ;  and  before  the  Doctor  was  up  the 


Jftl'kl  GOES    INTO    SOCIETY.  41 

next  morning,  his  pupil  was  at  the  door,  waiting  to  begin 
his  studies.  During  the  day,  as  Dr.  Ward  passed  in  and 
out,  he  saw  Percival  apparently  only  fumbling  over  the 
books.  He  told  him,  as  you  would  a  school-boy,  that  he 
ought  to  take  up  the  elementary  books  first,  but  Percival 
paid  no  attention  to  his  remark.  Thus  employed  for 
several  weeks,  he  at  length  inquired  about  the  library  of 
Dr.  Ives  in  New  Haven.  Dr.  Ward,  deeming  this  a  fit 
opportunity,  now  took  him  to  task  for  spending  his  time 
without  serious  devotion  to  his  studies.  He  replied  that 
he  had  looked  over  nearly  all  the  books.  The  Doctor 
then  told  him  he  should  begin  with  physiology,  and  took 
down  a  volume  to  show  what  he  meant.  Percival  said 
he  had  looked  that  through  ;  and,  to  see  what  he  knew 
about  it,  the  Doctor  asked  a  series  of  questions,  to  which 
he  replied  in  nearly  the  words  of  the  book.  He  then 
went  through  with  his  whole  library  in  the  same  manner, 
and  found  that  Percival  had  its  contents  at  his  tongue's 
end.  His  tuition  under  Dr.  Ward  was  now  ended.  He 
therefore  made  inquiries  about  the  library  of  Dr.  Ives, 
then  one  of  the  leading  physicians  in  Connecticut,  and  a 
little  later  wrote  to  him,  proposing  to  read  medicine  at  his 
office.  To  this  he  received  a  favorable  reply,  but  did  not 
at  once  resume  his  studies. 

At  about  this  time  he  was  invited  by  his  classmate,  the 
late  Rev.  Horace  Hooker,  to  visit  him  at  Hart-  Goes  into 
ford,  and  enter  into  the  literary  society  of  his  society- 
acquaintances.    He  gladly  embraced  the  opportunity,  and 
prepared  himself  to  talk  elaborately  on  particular  topics. 
But  he  was  not  a  favorite.     He  was  too  shy  and  modest 
to  adapt  himself  with  readiness  to  different  circles.     He 
wanted  confidence,  and  at  social  gatherings  he  talked  at 
great  length  on  single  subjects,  but  in  so  low  a  tone  that 


42  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  IV. 

people  could  not  hear  him.  He  was  not  treated  as  he 
expected  to  be  ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  not  appre 
ciated,  and  he  came  away  in  disgust.  How  keenly  he 
felt  this  disappointment  may  be  seen  from  one  of  his  early 
poems,  entitled  An  Imprecation.  His  wounded  sensi 
tiveness  grew  morbid  in  the  brightness  of  his  imagina 
tion.  The  following  are  the  first  and  last  stanzas :  — 

"  Ismir !  fare  thee  well  forever ! 
From  thy  walls  with  joy  I  go, 
Every  tie  I  freely  sever, 
Flying  from  thy  den  of  woe." 

"  Ismir!  land  of  cursed  deceivers, 
Where  the  sons  of  darkness  dwell, 
Hope,  the  cherub's  base  bereavers,  — 
Hateful  city!  fare  thee  well." 

It  is  evident  that  he  had  looked  forward  to  this  en 
trance  into  literary  society  with  intense  eagerness  and 
emotion.  He  longed  for  the  kind  recognition  which  is 
the  craving  of  genius  ;  and  when  he  saw  that  intellectual 
brilliancy  could  not  vie  with  easy  and  polished  manners, 
his  depression  was  great. 

He  found  few  in  his  native  place  who  had  the  educa 
tion  or  the  tastes  which  could  respond  to  his  own  poetical 
and  cultivated  mind,  yet  there  was  one,  the  daughter  of 
Hasa  the  Berlin  pastor,  and  the  sister  of  the  late 
IcquSnt-dy  "  Peter  Parley,"  whose  beauty  of  person  and 
ance.  elegant  manners  and  refined  tastes  made  her  an 

attractive  companion.  At  the  parsonage  he  was  always 
a  welcome  visitor,  and  with  this  young  lady  he  "  botanized 
in  the  fields  and  poetized  in  the  library."  It  was  with  her 
that  he  found  his  most  congenial  society  ;  and  it  is  her 
name  which  occurs  most  frequently  in  the  poems  he  now 
wrote.  The  following  is  a  specimen  of  the  breathings 
of  his  passion  :  — 


WRITES    TO    DR.    IVES.  43 

"  The  morn  is  blinking  o'er  the  hills 

With  softened  light  and  colors  gay  ; 
Through  grove  and  valley  sweetly  thrills 
The  melody  of  early  day  ; 

"  The  dewy  roses  blooming  fair 

Glitter  around  her  father's  ha' 

But  still  my  Mary  is  not  there,  — 

The  fairest  rose  is  far  awa'." 


This  was,  perhaps,  the  most  charming  acquaintance 
that  Percival  ever  had  with  any  lady.  Both  were  young 
and  free  from  care.  In  the  dewy  freshness  of  emotion 
there  was  a  delicate  and  tremulous  enjoyment  which  in 
spired  the  poet's  verses;  and  this  lady,  like  the  Highland 
beauty  of  Burns,  will  ever  live  in  the  ideal  passion  of 
Percival's  verse.  But  this  never  became  an  affair  of  the 
heart.  The  young  lady  was  already  engaged  to  another, 
and  gave  to  Percival  only  the  affection  and  sympathy  of 
a  familiar  friend. 

He  again  wrote  to  Dr.  Ives,  after  his  return  from  Hart 
ford,  about  coming  to  New  Haven,  and  after  Wishes  to 
some  further  delay  finally  came  late  in  the  fall  gj^j^ 
of  1815.     He  did  not  enter  the  then  newly  es-  does- 
tablished  medical  college,  but  was  only  a  private  student. 
Dr.  Ives  had  taken  a  special  interest  in  him,  and  quickly 
discerning  the  strength  and  the  weakness  of  his  nature, 
proposed  this,  as  in  his  case  the  best  method  of  study. 
But  he  did  not  make  a  long  stay.     He  suddenly  came 
back  to  Berlin  without  a  word  of  explanation. 

Some  months  after,  probably  in  the  spring  of  1816,  he 
wrote  to  Dr.  Ives,  but  did  not  send,  this  statement  of  his 
condition  :  — 

"  SIR,  —  Had  I  never  wavered,  I  should  now  freely 
address  you.  but  my  wanderings  have  been  such  that  I 


44  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  IV. 

Letter  toDr.  think  some  apology  necessary  for  the  proposition 
I  now  make  you.  My  situation  last  autumn, 
when  in  New  Haven,  was  to  me  very  disagreeable.  My 
health  was  poor ;  my  spirits  were  depressed ;  I  had  but  a 
trifle  of  money  at  command  and  no  speedy  prospect  of  more. 
These  things  darkened  my  prospects  to  such  a  degree 
that  I  did  then  what  I  could  wish  now  I  had  not  done. 
I  do  not  offer  these  as  excuses  for  my  conduct  to  others  ; 
they  are,  however,  some  excuse  to  myself.  I  wished  to 
do  something,  and  that  not  mean.  This  induced  me  to 
think  of  law,  not  because  I  supposed  I  could  ever  relish 
the  pursuit,  but  because  I  thought,  and  think  so  still,  that 
I  could  obtain  that  profession  better  with  equal  expense 
than  medicine,  and  that  seemed  to  me  then  the  most  im 
portant  consideration. 

"  I  knew  that  medicine  was  the  profession  most  con 
genial  to  my  mind.  I  believed  it  the  most  useful,  and  I 
think  I  should  have  eagerly  pursued  it,  had  my  health 
been  good,  and  had  I  seen  my  way  open  ;  but  ill  health, 
low  spirits,  and  embarrassments  will  dishearten.  I 
thought  the  desired  point  in  that  profession  unattain 
able.  I  feared,  if  I  engaged  in  it,  that  I  should  chain 
myself  down  to  poverty  and  obscurity,  and  I  then  gave 
it  up.  I  thought  then  I  might  bend  my  mind  to  any  ob 
ject.  Immediately  after  I  saw  you  I  commenced  reading 
ludgiveVr  Blackstone>  and  !  have  completed  it,  but  I  have 
up.  at  last  found  that  there  is  really  such  a  thing  as 

in  vita  minerva. 

"  I  am  now  disposed  (I  will  not  say  determined,  for 
is  going  to  I  might  not  then  be  believed)  to  resume  the 
LTnThe^ut  profession  of  medicine.  There  is,  I  fancy, 
he  likes  it.  nothing  which  will  bear  one  through  the  diffi 
culties  of  a  profession  but  a  fondness  for  it.  The  love  of 


i?ti.]  ILL    HEALTH.  45 

fame,  or  power,  or  money  cannot,  I  imagine,  counter 
balance  a  strongly  opposing  inclination.  I  think  I  have 
found  that  in  some  small  degree  the  case  with  myself.  I 
observed  to  you  last  winter,  that  if  I  could  see  my  way 
clear,  I  would  certainly  study  medicine ;  but  I  would  now 
say,  I  will  study  medicine  and  make  my  way  clear.  I 
must  be  strenuous  and  indefatigable  in  attaining  such  an 
object.  But  great  things  are  not  done  by  little  efforts. 
Life  is  too  short  for  a  crawler  to  scale  Olympus,  It  is 
the  res  arduce  which  try  the  man.  And  if  I  can  work  my 
way  through  my  difficulties  and  attain  distinction,  I  shall 
have  done  and  deserved  more  than  if  one  should  go  for 
ward,  remove  every  obstacle,  and  make  my  path  plain  and 
easy  before  me.  Some  shrink  back  from  difficulties,  but 
the  man  of  fortitude  presses  onward  and  overcomes  them. 
Why  may  not  that  fortitude  be  mine  ? 

"  The  proposal  I  would  now  make  you  is,  to  commence 
the  study  of  medicine  in  the  same  way  I  proposed  to  com 
mence  it  last  fall.  I  have  been  able  to  sell  a  part  of  my 
land  for  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars ;  this  will  carry 
me  forward  considerably ;  and  I  may  in  the  mean  time 
adopt  some  method  which  may  add  to  my  resources." 

He  mentions  one  ;  he  says,  "  I  would  willingly  under 
take  the  execution  of  a  work  on  botany  such  as 

Is  willing 

would  be  a  tolerable  library  to  the  ordinary  pur-  to  write  a 

*  work  on 

suers  of  the   science.       He   then   goes   on  to  botany  to 

„     ,  .       ,  ,          ,     earn  money. 

sketch  the  outlines  of  this  plan  at  some  length. 

They  were  afterwards  expanded  into  a  course  of  lectures, 

which  he  delivered  in  New  Haven. 

This  letter  plainly  indicates  his  state  of  mind  at  this 
time.  Great  sensibility,  ill  health,  and  a  constitutional 
despondency  made  him  the  prey  of  every  emotion  ;  and 
while  the  intellect  was  surpassingly  quick  and  keen,  it 


46  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  IV. 

was  largely  swayed  by  his  feelings.     Here  at  home  he 
read  Blackstone  with  the  village  lawyer,  Mr. 

His  literary  . 

activity  and   Dunbar,  and  made  extensive  notes  ot  his  read- 

mental  state.  .  .  .  ,    ,  .    .          . 

ings.  But  with  his  varied  activity,  he  em 
ployed  himself  in  other  kinds  of  work.  His  harp  was 
now  his  constant  companion,  and  a  large  part  of  his  first 
volume  was  written  at  this  time.  These  poems  reflect, 
in  their  deep  imaginative  coloring,  the  extremes  of  joy  or 
woe  to  which  he  was  subject.  They  are,  in  a  sense,  truer 
than  even  the  plainest  words  in  prose,  because  they  are  so 
entirely  personal  ;  they  seem  to  well  out  from  his  inmost 
being.  The  peculiarities  of  his  earlier  life,  his  shyness, 
his  choice  of  solitude,  his  silence  till  the  inspiration  came 
upon  him,  his  sudden  and  strange  movements,  —  each 
feature  is  clearly  reflected  in  them.  The  Suicide,  writ 
ten  mainly  at  this  time,  is  a  wonderful  revelation  of  the 
terrible  grievances  which  besiege  a  self-consuming  soul. 
It  shows  how  dark  thoughts  passed  over  him,  and  how 
completely  they  absorbed  his  own  interest  in  life.  He 
had  an  imaginative  scepticism,  like  Shelley,  in  regard  to 
the  Christian  faith  ;  and  this  deepened  the  gloom  which 
was  thickening  over  him.  The  purpose  came  upon  him  to 


Despondent  is    OWn    ^6p      *fc    WaS    tllis    Stat6    ° 

feelings.  which  gave  birth  to  The  Suicide.  The  poem 
beginning 

"  The  last  blue  hill  is  fading  from  the  sky,  " 
was  probably  written  in  anticipation  of  this  event  ;  and 
the  verses  beginning 

"  Care-worn  and  sunk  in  deep  despondency," 

indicate  the  nature  of  his  feelings.  His  disappointment 
in  not  obtaining  a  tutorship  in  college  increased  his 
troubles. 


STUDIES    LAW.  47 

But  all  his  changeful  revolutions  of  feeling  received  a 
sudden  check  from  an  invitation  to  become  a  pri-  Qoes  to  PMI- 
vate  tutor  in  the  family  of  Judge  Chauncey  of 
Philadelphia.  He  accepted  the  position,  and  in 
his  new  relations  found  a  more  congenial  atmosphere. 
Through  the  encouragement  of  Mr.  Chauncey  he  again 
began  the  study  of  law  in  his  office,  and  was  finally  ad 
mitted  to  the  bar,  though  he  never  practised.  In  this 
interval  he  was  too  much  occupied  with  his  various  stud 
ies  to  write  poetry ;  and  these  were  by  no  means  con 
fined  to  the  law.  He  had  ample  access  to  the  literary 
resources  which  the  city  then  afforded,  and  he  extended 
his  knowledge  in  several  departments  of  science. 

He  gave  up  his  position  as  tutor  in  the  fall  of  1817, 
and  returned  to  New  Haven  to  begin  the  study  Returns  to 
of  medicine,  as  he  had  proposed  to  Dr.  Ives  in  New  Haven- 
the  preceding  letter.  Here  he  found  several  of  his  old  col 
lege  friends,  —  William  C.  Fowler,  Julius  S.  Barnes,  and 
Horace  Hooker.  With  them  he  at  once  re-  nig  com_ 
newed  that  confidential  acquaintance  which  all  Panions- 
his  life  was  so  dear  to  him.  They  became  the  critics  of 
his  poetry,  the  companions  of  his  walks,  the  advisers  in 
his  fertile  but  often  quickly  abandoned  plans.  One  of 
them,  Mr.  Hooker,  tells  me  that  at  this  time  Percival 
was  at  his  room  nearly  every  day.  He  used  to  come  in 
of  a  morning  with  a  plan  for  a  new  book,  or  a  new  poem, 
or  with  new  theories  concerning  the  studies  in  which  he 
was  engaged.  He  would  enlarge  upon  them  brilliantly, 
exhaustively,  seeming  to  have  the  subject  entirely  in  hand, 
and  when  he  went  away,  left  the  impression  that  he  was 
to  set  about  the  immediate  execution  of  his  plan  ;  but 
when  he  came  again  the  next  day  he  had  a  new  project, 
and  the  one  discussed  so  earnestly  and  feasibly  the  day 
before  had  been  abandoned. 


48  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  IV. 

He  was  now  partially  dependent  upon  his  own  ex- 
WithDr.  ertions.  Dr.  Ives,  who  felt  a  deep  interest 
faTin'g'pu/sh  in  nim>  an^  wno  na(l  received  him  as  a  pri- 

on  Botany.      yate    gtu(Jent    m    ^is    Qwn    offic6)    trjed    iQ    hejp 

him.  He  was  one  of  the  few  originators  of  botanical  sci 
ence  in  this  country.  The  study  of  botany  with  us  was 
then  in  its  infancy.  Golden,  near  the  close  of  the  last 
century,  was  among  the  first  to  introduce  the  Linnaean 
system ;  and  Muhlenberg,  Barton,  Elliott,  and  Ives  were 
active  disciples,  gleaning  what  they  could  from  books  and 
nature.  Pursh's  "  Plants  of  North  America  "  had  then 
been  recently  published  in  London,  and  Dr.  Ives  engaged 
Percival  to  translate  it  from  the  Latin  for  publication 
here.  The  Doctor  had  already  begun  it,  but  gave  his 
manuscript  to  Percival,  who  worked  on  it  constantly  for 
a  fortnight,  nearly  completing  the  first  volume.  He  then 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  translation  was  doing  him 
no  good  ;  it  was  no  mental  improvement ;  and  he  grew 
sick  of  his  work,  and  left  it  unfinished.  Dr.  Ives,  in  the 
mean  time,  had  procured  a  large  list  of  subscribers,  and 
the  work,  when  completed  by  another  hand,  had  such  a 
large  sale  as  to  yield  an  annual  income  of  a  thousand 
dollars  for  some  time. 

He  was  not  many  months  in  New  Haven  before  he 
toThfiadS  was  a£ain  invite(l  to  Philadelphia  as  tutor  in 
phia.  the  family  of  Dr.  Neil.  This  gave  him  an 

opportunity  to  pursue  his  studies  at  the  medical  school 
in  that  city ;  and  with  the  hope  of  paying  his  way,  and  of 
studying  medicine  with  enlarged  facilities,  he  gladly  ac 
cepted  the  offer.  His  pupil  was  Dr.  Neil's  daughter.  It 
is  related  of  his  teaching,  that  he  taught  as  if  his  pupil 
knew  more  of  the  subject  in  hand  than  he  did.  But  his 
time  was  largely  spent  in  his  studies.  He  saw  much  of 


IN    LOVE.  49 

medical  practice  in  the  hospitals.  He  made  pleasant  ac 
quaintances  among  the  students  and  faculty.  In  this 
way  he  spent  his  second  interval  of  teaching,  which 
lasted  about  a  year.  It  was  destined  to  come  to  a 
sudden  end. 

Percival  once  told  a  friend  that  he  knew  but  two  fe 
males  before  he  entered  college  :  one  was  a  domestic  in 
his  father's  family,  the  other  was  his  mother.  At  Yale, 
though  so  modest  and  retiring,  one  or  two  beautiful  faces 
attracted  him,  and  he  had  found  in  the  home  of  his  vil 
lage  pastor  those  who  appreciated  his  poetical  feelings ; 
but  now  he  was  in  a  most  trying  position  for  a  very  sensi 
tive  mind.  While  teaching  his  pupil,  he  had  Fails  in  love 
nourished  a  silent  affection  for  her,  and  with  his  pupil, 
shrinking  delicacy  of  feeling  he  could  not  tell  his  love. 
He  was  engaged  in  his  customary  instructions  one  day 
when  he  accidentally  touched  her  hand.  This  so  over 
came  him  that  he  blushed  deeply,  became  confused,  could 
not  say  a  word,  and  finally  left  the  room  suddenly, — 
never  to  return. 

He  speedily  bade  his  friends  adieu  and  came  to  New 
York,  where  he  spent  a  short  time,  partly  with  friends, 
partly  in  visiting  the  hospitals.      He  then  returned  to 
New   Haven   in    the   latter   part   of  1819,   and   finally 
completed  his  studies  with  Dr.  Ives.     He  had  already 
acquired  a  wide  reputation  as  a  prodigy  of  learning  and 
for  his  facility  in  acquiring  knowledge.     When  it  was 
known  that  he  had  applied  for  a  medical  degree,  Is  exam. 
there  was  considerable  excitement  about  his  ex-  JJJedicai 
animation.   No  one  of  the  Medical  Board  dared  desree- 
to  ask  him  questions  out  of  his  own  province  ;  and  they 
examined  him  for  several  hours,  trying,  if  possible,  to  ex 
haust  his  knowledge.     But  he  came  out  triumphantly 


50  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  IV. 

from  the  ordeal ;  and  it  was  said  at  the  time  that  no  stu 
dent  had  ever  been  proved  with  such  severe  tests  and 
none  had  ever  passed  so  brilliant  an  examination. 

In  September  of  this  year  he  was  named  by  Professor 
Silliman  a  member  of  the  American  Geological  Society, 
then  just  organizing. 

The  following  testimonials  from  his  instructors,  though 
written  a  year  later  and  for  a  special  purpose,  testify  to 
his  high  attainments  and  excellent  character  :  — 


FROM  PRESIDENT  DAY. 

This  may  certify  that  Dr.  James  G.  Percival,  who  was 
graduated  at  this  college  in  1815,  was  among  the  most 
distinguished  in  his  class  in  talents  and  literary  acquire 
ments.  I  have  also  understood  that,  in  the  intervening 
six  years,  he  has  prosecuted  scientific  and  professional 
studies  with  unusual  assiduity  and  success. 

JEREMIAH  DAY, 

President  of  Yak  College. 
YALE  COLLEGE,  September  17, 1821. 


FROM  DR.  IVES. 

This  certifies  that  Dr.  James  G.  Percival  has  passed 
through  the  academical  and  medical  institutions  in  this 
college  with  much  credit  to  himself  and  satisfaction 
to  his  instructors.  He  is  a  universal  scholar,  and  as 
a  naturalist  is  scarcely  excelled  by  any  person  of  his 
age  in  the  United  States.  As  a  medical  scholar  I  may 
safely  say  that,  from  the  commencement  of  the  Medical 
Institution  in  this  place,  no  one  in  the  examination  for 


TAKES    THE    DEGREE    OF    M.  D.  51 

a  degree  of  Doctor  of  Medicine  has  appeared  better  than 

Dr.  J.  G.  Percival 

ELI  IVES,  M.  D, 

Professor  of  Materia  Medica  and  Botany. 
YALE  COLLEGE,  September  21, 1821. 


FROM  DR.  KNIGHT. 

MEDICAL  INSTITUTION  OP  YALE  COLLEGE, 
September  18,  1821. 

I  hereby  certify  that  I  have  been  for  many  years  ac 
quainted  with  Dr.  James  G.  Percival.  He  attended 
a  full  course  of  lectures  on  the  various  branches  of 
medical  science  in  this  Institution,  and  one  also  in 
Philadelphia.  His  examination  for  the  degree  of  Doc 
tor  of  Medicine  was  highly  creditable  to  himself 
and  satisfactory  to  the  Board  of  Examiners.  He  is  a 
young  gentleman  amiable  in  his  manners  and  moral 
in  his  conduct.  He  has  been  considered  by  those  who 
have  superintended  his  education  as  possessing  more 
than  ordinary  talents,  and  his  knowledge  of  the  various 
branches  of  literature  and  science  is  rarely  exceeded  by 
persons  of  his  age.  He  is  particularly  versed  in  most 
parts  of  the  natural  sciences.  I  have  great  pleasure  in 
recommending  him  to  any  situation  where  industry  and 
scientific  attainments  are  required. 

JONATHAN  KNIGHT, 
Professor  of  Anatomy  and  Physiology. 


FROM  PROFESSOR  SILLIMAN. 

YALE  COLLEGE,  November  23,  1821. 

The  bearer,  Dr.  Percival,  is  a  graduate  of  this  Institu 
tion   and   also  of  the   Medical   College  attached   to  it. 


S2 


JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.          [CHAP.  IV. 


Both  in  his  academical  and  professional  pursuits  he  has 
distinguished  himself  as  a  young  man  of  talents  and  of 
fine  attainments,  both  in  literature  and  in  general  and 
professional  science  ;  and  all  who  have  the  pleasure  of 
his  acquaintance  recognize  him  as  a  man  of  the  mildest 
manners  and  of  inoffensive  deportment. 

B.   SILLIMAN, 

Professor  of  Chemistry,  frc.  in  Yale  College 
and  in  the  Medical  Institution. 


CHAPTER    V. 

1820. 
LECTURES  ON  ANATOMY.  —  A  PHYSICIAN  IN  KENSINGTON.  —  OFFERS 

HIMSELF  TO  HIS  FORMER  PUPIL.  —  Is  REJECTED.  —  IN  GREAT  MEN 
TAL  DEPRESSION.  —  MASTERS  HIS  PASSION.  —  His  RELIGIOUS 
VIEWS.  —  ATTEMPTS  TO  COMMIT  SUICIDE. 

]E  continued  to  remain  in  New  Haven  after 
taking  his  degree.  For  a  season,  while  en 
gaged  in  his  studies,  he  had  a  number  of  pri 
vate  pupils,  among  whom  were  the  He  hag  pri_ 
two  sons  of  Dr.  Ives.  One  of  them  distinctly  vate  pupils- 
remembers  Percival  as  his  instructor  at  this  time.  He  tells 
me  that  he  used  to  go  up  to  his  room  to  recite,  and  that 
often  the  poet  would  be  so  engaged  in  his  books  that  he  did 
not  notice  him  for  a  good  while  ;  and  that  sometimes  he 
would  go  in  to  recite,  and  sit  with  his  books  under  his 
arm  and  go  away  again,  without  Percival's  knowing  that 
he  had  been  there  at  all. 

He  was  also  employed  by  the  Medical  College  to  de 
liver  a  course  of  lectures  on  Anatomy,  which,  1^^,,  on 
the  poet  Bryant  tells  me,  attracted  a  good  deal  Anatomy- 
of  attention  for  the  unusual  clearness  and  excellence  of 
his  demonstrations  of  the  human  frame.     He  was  inter 
ested,  too,  in  the  study  of  language ;  and  to  test  some  of 
his   theories   he  spent  considerable   time  with   the   In 
dians. 

But  the  time  came  for  him  to  engage  in  his  profession. 


54  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.          [CHAP.  V. 

He  wished  to  establish  himself  as  a  physician.  There 
Goes  to  Ken-  was  an  opening  at  Kensington  ;  and  he  was  in- 
pra°ctise.  vited  to  fill  it.  He  took  up  his  residence  at  the 
old  homestead.  Here  he  brought  his  library  and  pursued 
his  studies  of  the  various  languages.  In  due  time  he 
began  to  be  known  to  the  farmers  and  country  people 
around  him.  At  this  season  a  certain  malignant  fever 
was  raging,  which  baffled  the  skill  of  the  best  physicians. 
There  was  a  family  sick  with  it  at  the  head  of  the  mill- 
pond,  near  his  home.  They  had  seven  chil- 
'e'  dren.  Dr.  Ward  asked  them  to  send  for  Per- 
cival,  who  came  and  prescribed  for  them.  But  he  was 
unable  to  check  the  violence  of  the  disease.  Five 
of  the  smaller  boys  died  in  quick  succession,  two  only 
one  or  two  days  apart;  they  were  from  two  to  twelve 
years  of  age.  The  disease  was  apparently  brought  on 
by  their  wading  about  in  the  mud.  He  had  other  pa 
tients  sick  with  the  same  disease,  five  of  whom  died  on  the 
same  day.  Such  mortality  alarmed  him.  He  was  un 
willing  to  bear  the  responsibility  laid  upon  the  physician. 
He  said  afterwards  to  Dr.  Barnes  :  "  I  could  not  bear  to 
have  people  looking  to  me  for  relief  and  not  be  able  to 
relieve  them."  This  was  the  end,  so  far  as  I  can  learn, 
of  his  medical  practice  in  Kensington.  There  is  a 
story  that  he  was  disgusted  with  the  desire  which  some 
showed  to  "  beat  down  "  his  charges,  or  to  pay  him  in 
kind,  and  that,  yielding  to  the  impulse  of  the  moment, 
he  threw  his  ledger  into  the  fire ;  but  I  cannot  find  that 
it  is  true. 

The  failure  of  his  attempt  at  practice  brought  on  again 
Is  involved  tne  gloom  which  had  been  once  averted  ;  but  it 
in  trouble.  wag  not  ^{3  alone.  His  sudden  departure  from 
Philadelphia  had  not  changed  his  affection  for  his  former 


OFFERS    HIMSELF,    AND    IS    REJECTED.     55 

pupil ;  and  a  short  time  before  he  left  New  Haven  to  en 
gage  in  practice  at  Kensington,  probably  in  April  or  May, 
1820,  he  wrote  her  a  letter  declaring  his  pas-  Offers  him- 
sion.  To  this  letter  he  received  a  reply  in  the  pupil, 
handwriting  of  a  member  of  the  family,  from  which  I 
take  the  following  extract :  "  Your  former  pupil,  though 
impressed  with  a  grateful  sense  of  the  services  she  re 
ceived  from  you,  (which  we  always  fully  appreciated,) 
and  feeling  the  esteem  she  believed  due  to  your  character 
and  principles,  never,  I  must  candidly  assure  you,  had  a 
thought  which  could  for  a  moment  encourage  the  object 
you  avow.  Kindness  for  you  and  the  dictates  of  duty 
prompt  me  to  inform  you  at  once  that  there  are  existing 
circumstances  which  must  now  and  forever  render  such  a 
desire  unavailing."  To  this  the  poet  replied  in  a  letter 
which,  I  am  told,  was  equally  a  credit  to  his  head  and 
heart.  But  it  was  not  easy  for  him  to  forget  his  passion, 
however  easily  he  could  conquer  it ;  and  being  in  ill 
health,  without  regular  employment,  and  disposed  to 
melancholy,  he  now  passed  through  a  season  of  most 
bitter  trial.  He  had  always  been  a  froe-thinker  in  re 
ligion  ;  and  now  his  sensitive  imagination  and  misan 
thropic  feelings  conjured  up  doubts  and  fears  which  only 
darkened  his  way.  At  this  time  his  classmate,  Dr. 
Barnes,  fortunately  called  upon  him  in  Kensington.  He 
says  :  "  I  found  him  in  such  a  state  of  mind  that  I  saw 
the  clergyman  of  the  parish,  Mr.  Royal  Robbins,  and  re 
quested  him  to  see  him  and  endeavor  to  turn  his  thoughts 
into  a  different  channel."  The  Kensington  pastor  kindly 
sought  his  society,  companioned  with  him,  and  gained  his 
confidence,  but  it  did  not  lighten  his  thickening  gloom. 
Mr.  Robbins  gave  me  the  following  record  of  one  of  his 
conversations  with  him  :  — 


56  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.          [CHAP.  V. 

"That  Percival  was  sceptical  on  the  subject  of  revealed 
His  religious  religion  at  an  early  period  of  his  life,  I  suppose, 
must  be  admitted  by  every  one.  I  remember  con 
versing  with  him  one  evening  on  the  subject.  He  seemed 
not  to  be  satisfied  with  the  religion  of  the  Bible,  objecting 
to  it,  if  I  mistake  not,  as  appealing  too  much  to  our  selfish 
feelings  and  fears.  In  order  to  confute  him  or  to  have  him 
point  out  a  better  or  purer  system,  I  referred  him  to  some 
deistical  writers,  to  learn  whether  he  thought  that  they  in 
culcated  such  a  system.  He  did  not,  however,  make  out 
much  in  favor  of  those  named,  and  it  would  certainly  be 
difficult  for  any  one  to  do  it.  After  more  or  less  remark 
he  left  me  with  the  impression  that  he  thought  pretty 
well  of-  Lord  Herbert,  giving  him  the  preference,  per 
haps  not  to  the  writers  of  the  Scriptures,  but  to  his  brother- 
sceptics. 

"  Whether  Percival  thought  on  the  subject  of  religion 
in  his  latter  days  as  he  did  in  earlier  life  I  do  not  know. 
I  hope  he  did  not,  and  that  he  became  more  cautious  on 
the  subject,  as  his  mind  embraced  a  wider  compass  of 
knowledge." 

He  said  to  Dr.  Barnes  at  this  meeting,  "  I  do  not  wish 
to  live  any  longer."  The  troubles  and  disappointments 
of  his  past  life  came  up  afresh.  He  became  erratic  in 
his  movements.  Once,  while  walking  with  Mr.  Robbins, 
he  set  out  on  a  full  run  across  the  fields,  attempting  to 
Partly  in-  strike  his  head  against  a  wall.  He  wandered 
Staking^  m  tne  wo°ds  ar>d  solitary  places.  In  the  or- 
suicide.  chard  fronting  the  house  he  would  strike  his 
head  against  the  trees.  Though  the  friends  knew  that 
this  was  due  to  the  peculiar  nature  of  the  disease  which 
affected  his  mind,  his  sad  condition  excited  their  profound 
pity.  Yet  they  could  do  nothing  for  him.  The  causes 


ATTEMPTS    TO    COMMIT    SUICIDE.          57 

of  his  troubles  were  too  deeply  and  peculiarly  seated  to 
be  reached  by  medicine  or  friendship.  It  would  form 
one  of  the  most  touching  and  important  chapters  of  psy 
chological  science  if  the  inner  history  of  his  mind  at  this 
time  could  be  fully  written.  But  this  could  have  been 
done  only  by  his  own  pen.  It  is  a  curious  fact,  there 
fore,  that  he  has  done  this  himself ;  and  that,  too,  in  the 
most  impassioned  and  personal  manner.  The  Suicide 
was  only  partially  written  in  1816.  Three  fourths  of  it 
was  composed  when  he  looked  upon  suicide  only  as  a  ro 
mantic  poetical  dream,  a  possible  reality.  The  remainder 
was  written  after  an  event  which,  in  some  respects,  formed 
the  crisis  of  his  life.  It  was  an  actual  attempt  Attempts  at 
at  suicide.  His  mind  and  heart  had  become  8U 
depressed  till  life  was  a  burden  and  he  longed  in  full 
reality  to  die.  In  this  extremity,  he  suddenly  left  his 
home  for  Farmington,  a  neighboring  town,  to  procure, 
as  he  afterwards  said,  such  a  quantity  of  opium  as  would 
take  away  his  life.  A  few  days  before  —  such  was  the 
pressure  at  his  head  —  he  had  attempted  to  fracture  his 
skull  with  a  large  cobble-stone,  which  he  hurled  with  full 
force  against  his  forehead.  At  this  time  he  chose  a  more 
certain  method.  It  was  the  general  opinion,  when  he 
disappeared,  that  he  was  intent  upon  some  measure  to 
take  his  life,  and  search  was  made,  but  without  success, 
to  find  him.  Suddenly  he  appeared  in  the  orchard  near 
the  house,  and  was  seen  walking  to  and  fro,  holding  his 
hand  to  his  mouth,  as  if  he  were  chewing  something. 
A  little  later,  his  brother,  returning  from  the  mill,  saw 
persons  leading  him  about  in  the  yard.  He  had  taken 
an  overdose,  and  was  in  a  pale  sweat  and  great  pain. 
His  brother  asked  him  if  he  had  been  chewing  opium. 
He  replied  that  he  had ;  and  to  his  brother's  further 
3* 


58  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  V. 

question  whether  he  had  any  more,  he  drew  a  small  ball 
from  his  vest  pocket  and  threw  it  violently  upon  the 
ground.  He  was  then  taken  to  the  house,  and  the  ser 
vant  was  ordered  to  prepare  some  very  strong  coffee  as  an 
antidote  to  the  poison ;  and  he  soon  grew  better.  But 
the  spell  of  a  madman  was  yet  upon  him  ;  and  his  next 
plan  was  to  go  to  the  Bay  of  Fundy  and  let  the  swiftly 
rising  tide  engulf  him.  This  was  abandoned.  His  last 
plan,  made  soon  after,  was  to  go  to  Middletown  to  buy  a 
brace  of  pistols  to  shoot  himself  through  the  head.  He 
had  taken  a  bee  line  for  the  place,  and  was  in  the  middle 
of  a  field,  when  all  at  once  his  disease  left  him  ;  the  press 
ure  at  his  head  was  gone,  and  he  said  to  himself  (so  he 
afterwards  remarked),  "  I  will  live  and  take  what  God 
gives  me  "  ;  and  turning  about,  he  went  home  a  sane  man. 
This  peculiar  visitation  never  came  to  him  again ;  but 
traces  of  it  may  be  found  in  his  extreme  sensitiveness, 
and  in  the  vacillation  to  which  he  was  subject  for  many 
years,  and  in  his  almost  confirmed  ill  health. 

The  following  portion  of  The  Suicide  was  written 
after  these  attempts  at  self-destruction,  and  embodies,  no 
doubt,  his  own  feelings  as  he  entered  the  mysterious  con 
fines  of  dissolution.  It  is  the  only  instance  in  literature 
where  the  dying  agonies  of  a  suicide  have  been  set  forth 
in  the  burning  words  of  impassioned  poetry  :  — 

"  When  life  was  weak  and  faint,  his  ardent  soul 
Unfolded  all  the  vigor  of  its  powers; 
Then  through  the  fields  of  lore  he  flew,  and  stole, 
With  ceaseless  toil,  the  honey  of  its  flowers. 

"  His  heart  expanded  with  his  growing  mind, 
And  love,  and  charity,  and  thirst  of  fame, 
Unbending  worth,  ambition  unconfined, 
0,  these  he  wished,  his  bosom's  only  aim ! 


EXTRACT    FROM    THE    SUICIDE.  59 

"  0,  he  would  think  of  these,  until  the  glow 
Brightened  his  cheek  and  kindled  up  his  eye ; 
Then  in  a  rushing  flood  his  thoughts  would  flow, 
And  lift  him  to  the  all-o'erarching  sky. 

"  And  yet  his  soul  was  tender;  —there  was  one 
Who  made  his  heart  throb  and  his  pulses  beat; 
She  was  his  all,  his  only  light,  his  Sun,  — 
Her  eye  was  brightest,  and  her  voice  most  sweet 

"  She  was  to  him  an  angel ;  —  he  was  young, 
The  down  of  youth  had  just  begun  to  grow; 
His  eye  forever  on  her  image  hung, 
There  would  his  centring  thoughts  forever  flow. 

"  0  love  how  ill  requited !  —  could  a  soul, 
Then  soaring  to  perfection,  blend  with  one, 
Who  only  thought  of  transient  sport,  whose  whole 
Enjoyment  ceased  below,  where  his  begun? 

"  And  then  his  fearfulness  and  shrinking  eye,  — 
She  knew  her  power,  and  yet  she  could  not  know 
The  worth  of  him  who  doated;  —  with  a  sigh. 
Of  grief  and  wounded  pride  he  let  her  go. 

"  First  love,  —  with  what  a  deep,  strong,  fixed  impress 
It  prints  the  yielding  heart  of  childhood !     Gone, 
No  other  eye  the  lone,  lost  soul  can  bless, 
Hope  then  is  fled,  the  feelings  are  undone. 

"  How  all  unequal  were  his  mind  and  form ! 
This  knew  the  blinking  owls,  that  shunned  his  light; 
To  wound  his  bosom,  and  to  raise  the  storm 
He  ill  could  master,  seemed  their  sole  delight. 

"  Abused,  neglected,  fatherless,  no  hand 
To  guide  or  guard  him,  left  alone  to  steer 
His  dangerous  way,  - —  can  youth  securely  stand, 
When  not  a  parent,  friend,  or  hope  is  near? 

"  He  conquered  in  intelligence,  but  those 
Who  felt  his  strength  there,  still  his  weakness  knew; 
They  crushed  his  spirit  first,  and  then,  to  close 
Their  work,  they  made  him  like  their  grovelling  crew. 


60  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  V. 

"  The  light  of  Heaven  was  gone,  —  ambition  still 
Lurked  with  him  to  the  last,  but  he  was  blind; 
And  genius  struggled  on  through  every  ill, 
But  peace  and  innocence  were  left  behind. 

"  Years  hurried  by,  —  but  what  a  raging  sea 
Was  that  young  heart,  —  wild  as  a  steed  he  ran, 
Till  he  was  swallowed  in  misanthropy, 
And  swore  eternal  enmity  to  man. 

"  And  yet  he  could  not  hate,  —  at  every  look, 
That  told  the  wounded  bosom's  throbbing  swell, 
His  frame  in  sympathetic  shivering  shook, 
His  hand,  though  raised  in  wrath,  in  pity  fell. 

"  He  longed  to  cast  his  hateful  chains  away, 
He  longed  to  be  all  virtue,  reason,  soul ; 
In  vain  he  strove  against  the  headlong  sway 
Of  passion,— till  its  gulf  absorbed  the  whole. 

"  'Mid  all  his  folly,  weakness,  guilt,  one  beam 
Across  the  darkness  of  his  being  shone,  — 
Most  dastardly  and  shameful  did  he  deem 
To  take  one  mite  that  was  not  all  his  own. 

"  She  came,  —  at  last  the  kindred  spirit  came, 
The  same  bright  look,  the  same  dissolving  eye; 
Her  bosom  lit  with  that  ethereal  flame, 
Which  warmed  him,  when  in  youth  his  soul  was  high. 

"  Informing  and  informed,  theirs  was  the  pure 
Delight  of  blended  intellect,  —  their  way 
Was  strewed  with  reason's  choicest  pleasures,  sure 
To  last  with  those  whom  guilt  leads  not  astray. 

"  Awhile  his  spirit  kindled,  —  hope,  and  love, 
And  friendship,  days  of  peace  and  joy  arose, 
And  lifted  all  his  ardent  thoughts  above 
The  memory  of  his  follies  and  his  woes. 

"  His  way  had  been  unequal,  —  now  he  soared 
On  rushing  wings,  and  now  he  sunk  in  night; 
But  then  he  felt  new  life  around  him  poured, 
He  aimed  to  Heaven  his  strong,  untiring  flight. 


EXTRACT    FROM    THE    SUICIDE.  6l 

"  'T  was  but  a  moment,  —  like  the  dying  flash, 
The  soul's  last  sparkle,  ere  its  lights  are  fled; 
Then  folly  came,  his  kindling  hopes  to  dash, 
And  hide  his  spirit  with  the  moral  dead. 

"  Too  late !  too  late  I  thou  couldst  not  call  him  back, 
With  all  thy  charms  thou  couldst  not:  guilt,  despair, 
So  long  had  dogged  him  in  his  wayward  track, 
They  quenched  the  light  that  once  shone  bravely  there. 

"  An  outcast,  self-condemned,  he  takes  his  way, 
He  knows  and  cares  not  whither ;  he  can  weep 
No  more,  —  his  only  wish  his  head  to  lay 
In  endless  death  and  everlasting  sleep. 

"  Ah,  who  can  bear  the  self-abhorring  thought 
Of  time,  chance,  talent,  wasted,  —  who  can  think 
Of  friendship,  love,  fame,  science,  gone  to  naught, 
And  not  in  hopeless  desperation  sink  ? 

"  Behind  are  summits,  lofty,  pure,  and  bright 
Where  blow  the  life-reviving  gales  of  Heaven; 
Below  expand  the  jaws  of  deepest  night, 
And  there  he  falls,  by  power  resistless  driven. 

"  The  links  that  bind  to  life  are  torn  away; 
The  hope,  the  assuring  hope  of  better  days, 
Friendship,  that  warms  us  with  a  genial  ray, 
And  love,  that  kindles  with  an  ardent  blaze. 

"  These  he  has  left,  and  books  have  lost  their  charm ; 
The  brightest  sky  is  but  a  veil  of  gloom, 
His  mind,  hand,  useless,  where  can  be  the  harm 
In  drawing  to  his  only  couch,  the  tomb  ? 

"  Ye,  who  abused,  neglected,  rent,  and  stained 
That  heart,  when  pure  and  tender,  come  and  dwell 
On  these  dark  ruins,  and,  by  Heaven  arraigned, 
Feel,  as  you  look,  the  scorpion  stings  of  hell. 

"  But  no !  your  cold,  black  bosoms  cannot  feel ; 
Amid  the  rank  weeds,  flowers  can  never  blow ; 
Your  hearts,  encrusted  in  their  case  of  steel, 
No  feelings  of  remorse  or  pity  know. 


62  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  V. 

"  Yes,  you  will  say,  poor,  weak,  and  childish  boy, 
Infirm  of  purpose,  shook  by  every  sigh, 
A  thing  of  air,  a  light,  fantastic  toy,  — 
What  reck  we  if  such  shadows  live  or  die? 

"  But  no !  my  life's  blood  calls  aloud  to  Heaven, 
The  arm  of  Justice  cannot,  will  not  sleep ; 
A  perfect  retribution  shall  be  given, 
And  Vengeance  on  your  head  her  coals  shall  heap. 

"  Where  minds  like  this  are  ruined,  guilt  must  be, 
And  where  guilt  is,  remorse  will  gnaw  the  soul, 
And  every  moment  teem  with  agony, 
And  sleepless  thoughts  in  burning  torrents  roll. 

u  And  thou,  arch  moral-murderer!  hear  my  curse: 
Go,  gorge  and  wallow  in  thy  priestly  sty ; 
Than  what  thou  art,  I  cannot  wish  thee  worse,  — 
There  with  thy  kindred  reptiles  crawl  and  die." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

1821,  1822. 

EARLY  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  —  PERCIVAL  AN  AUTHOR.  —  THE 
MICROSCOPE.  —  His  FIRST  VOLUME.  —  KEVIEWED  BY  EDWARD 
EVERETT.  —  GOES  TO  CHARLESTON,  S.  C.  —  WRITES  POETRY  FOR 
THE  CHARLESTON  COURIER. 

0  properly  appreciate  the  introduction  of  Per- 
cival  into  the  world  of  letters,  it  is  necessary 
to  wait  a  little  at  the  threshold,  to  see  who 
were  his  peers  forty  and  fifty  years  ago.  At 
the  close  of  the  last  century  our  literature  was  Early  Amer- 
mainly  confined  to  theology  and  forensic  elo-  ture. 
quence,  political  papers  and  practical  essays,  and  our 
popular  reading  was  limited  to  the  witty  but  superficial 
writers  of  Queen  Anne's  reign.  But  the  Monthly  An 
thology,  begun  in  1803,  had  already  in  its  service  a  body 
of  young  writers  who  have  since  gained  high  honors  in 
literature  ;  and  when  the  North  American  Review  took 
its  place,  in  1815,  the  country  gave  promise  of  general 
literary  activity.  The  influence  of  the  Revolution  was 
passing  away ;  the  restrictions  laid  upon  commerce  were 
removed ;  new  tastes  were  called  forth  by  the  impor 
tations  of  fresh  volumes  from  England  and  the  Conti 
nent  ;  and  for  the  first  time,  the  foundation  was  laid  of  a 
truly  American  literature. 

It  is  worth  our  while  to  note  this  awakening  of  a  new 
life  in  letters.     Philip  Freneau  was  almost  the  first  who 


64  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  VI. 

stood  out  after  the  Revolution  from  the  crowd  of  con 
temporary  poets.  Charles  Brockden  Brown  had  already 
published  the  first  original  work  of  fiction,  Wieland,  in 
1798.  But  the  original  works  at  the  close  of  the  century 
were  few.  Nearly  all  the  men  who  have  given  tone  and 
power  to  American  literature  were  born  between  1790 
and  1800,  and  first  came  before  the  public  in  the  interval 
Contempo-  of  1812  and  182L  Salmagundi  and  Irving's 
rary  authors.  Knickerbocker  had  been  printed  but  a  short 
time.  The  younger  Buckminster  had  created  a  won 
derful  impression  by  the  stirring  eloquence  of  his  dis 
courses,  and  had  died  in  his  early  prime.  Moses  Stuart 
was  just  beginning  his  Hebrew  Grammar  ;  Dr.  Robinson 
was  entering  upon  those  studies  which  culminated  in  his 
Biblical  Researches ;  J.  T.  Buckingham  and  W.  L.  Stone 
were  raising  the  standard  of  journalism ;  Dr.  J.  W. 
Francis  was  adorning  the  medical  profession  with  the 
literary  culture  of  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school ;  Ben 
jamin  Silliman  was  ardently  engaged  in  awakening  an 
interest  in  scientific  pursuits  ;  Dr.  Eli  Ives  was  exciting 
a  taste  for  botany  among  the  students  at  Yale  ;  Allston 
had  just  returned  from  a  season  of  study  in  Europe  ;  and 
Dr.  Dwight  was  in  the  height  of  his  fame  as  a  college 
president.  In  1812,  Hillhouse  produced  The  Judgment; 
and  Allston,  Irving,  and  Bryant  soon  followed  with  vol 
umes  which  have  since  become  classic.  In  1816,  Pier- 
pont  published  his  Airs  of  Palestine  ;  in  1817,  Professor 
Ticknor  gave  an  impulse  to  letters  by  his  lectures  on 
Modern  Literature.  Cooper  was  then  about  to  initiate 
a  new  school  of  fiction ;  Dana  was  nursing  that  heart- 
reading  thought,  which  presently  streamed  out  rich  and 
full  in  The  Idle  Man  ;  Channing,  with  his  fine  taste,  was 
just  entering  upon  his  famous  controversy ;  Drake  was 


]       EARLY    AMERICAN    LITERATURE.  65 

filling  his  fancy  with  those  airy  nothings,  which  afterwards 
grew  into  form  in  The  Culprit  Fay ;  Maria  Brooks  was 
slowly  training  her  imagination  for  the  impassioned  scenes 
of  Zophiel ;  Halleck  had  published  his  Fanny ;  Everett 
had  begun  his  work  at  Cambridge  and  in  the  North 
American  Review ;  and  Webster,  Calhoun,  and  Clay 
were  entering  upon  their  famous  triumvirate  in  the 
American  Senate. 

Across  the  water,  a  new  era  was  breaking  upon  litera 
ture  in  England.  Any  history  of  English  poetry  Literature 
would  be  incomplete  without  noticing  the  new  m  Enslaud- 
spirit  infused  into  it  about  the  beginning  of  the  present 
century.  It  is  not  difficult  to  trace  its  origin.  Before  the 
days  of  Cowper  and  Crabbe,  poetry  had  sunk  to  the  level 
of  smooth  conceits  and  clever  epithets,  having  wholly  lost 
the  nerve  and  force  of  the  Elizabethan  writers ;  these 
poets  returned  to  native  and  simple  sentiment.  Much 
of  their  merit  arises  from  the  fact  that  they  were  the 
leaders  of  a  great  reform  in  literature.  They  first  gave 
expression  to  feelings  long  held  as  beneath  the  dignity  of 
letters.  In  many  minds  they  quickened  cravings  for  truth 
ful  arid  earnest  utterance,  aspirations  toward  a  spiritual 
renewing  of  life,  and  longings  to  know  men  and  women 
as  they  actually  lived.  Among  the  leaders  in  this  reform 
were  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge.  The  violent  change  of 
opinions  through  which  they  passed  in  early  life  was  sig 
nificant  of  the  far  deeper  change  in  the  entire  realm  of 
sentiment  and  feeling.  With  Coleridge  the  spirit  of  reform 
penetrated  every  thought ;  but  while  his  life  was  spent 
in  efforts  to  build  up  a  new  and  comprehensive  system 
of  philosophic  belief,  poetry  had  only  a  limited  share  of 
his  attention.  In  Wordsworth  the  change  was  no  less 
radical,  but  his  mind  was  not  so  richly  and  variously  en- 

E 


66  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  VI. 

dowed  as  that  of  Coleridge.  He,  however,  saw  clearly 
the  path  in  which  his  true  vocation  lay,  and,  with  a  sub 
lime  self-confidence,  walked  boldly  on,  regardless  of  fear 
and  favor,  till  he  gained  his  end.  The  heroism  of  action 
pales  somewhat  beside  that  of  thought,  for  the  struggles 
of  the  latter  are  more  costly  to  the  spiritual  nature,  and 
hence  more  noble  ;  and  Wordsworth's  belief  that  he  had 
poetic  gifts  which  the  world  needed,  even  before  he  had 
brought  them  out,  and  his  trust  in  the  ultimate  success 
of  his  poetry  while  his  works  remained  unread,  have  a 
touch  of  the  heroic  as  rare  among  poets  as  it  is  precious. 
It  is  always  allowed  them  to  sing  of  deathless  fame,  but 
the  sincerity  and  calm,  consecrated  earnestness  of  Words 
worth  kept  his  trust  from  lapsing  into  extreme  license, 
while  popular  neglect,  sarcastic  criticism,  the  slow  growth 
of  sympathy,  and  the  final  triumph,  which  in  turn  met  his 
efforts,  made  manifest  at  every  stage  his  independence  and 
inherent  energy  of  character.  His  ends  were  worthy  of 
the  spirit  in  which  they  were  urged  on  to  success.  He 
aimed  at  completing  the  work  which  Cowper  had  begun. 
Casting  aside  the  conventional  phrases  and  terms  then 
common  in  poetry,  he  set  forth  the  influence  of  Nature 
upon  the  soul.  He  himself  had  "  sight  of  that  immortal 
sea  which  brought  us  hither,"  and  in  many  winged 
snatches  of  poetic  thought  breathed  its  immortal  life 
into  his  fellow-men.  But  he  did  not  work  alone.  While 
Coleridge  was  struggling  to  quiet  his  own  mind  tossed 
amongst  the  wrecks  of  ancient  thinking,  Shelley  was  put 
ting  into  verse  his  solitary  communings  with  nature,  Keats 
was  lost  in  an  almost  pagan  devotion  to  the  spirits  of  the 
forest  and  the  stream,  and  Byron,  amid  wild  gusts  of  pas 
sion,  showed  that  he  had  at  times  intense  sympathy  with 
all  that  was  best  in  the  new  poetic  age  then  opening. 


^sk]  PERCIVAL    AN    AUTHOR.  67 

In  1821  Percival  came  into  company  with  these  men 
by  publishing  a  small,  dingy-looking  18mo  of  Perdvalan 
346  pages,  containing  the  first  part  of  his  Pro-  author- 
metheus  ;  Zamor,  a  tragedy  which  he  rejected  from  his 
later  volumes ;  and  a  large  number  of  other  character  of 
poems,  more  varied  in  character  and  versifica-  his  volume- 
tion  than  had  yet  come  from  the  pen  of  any  native  poet. 
Although  it  met  with  a  kind  reception,  works  of  a  purely 
literary  character,  like  The  Sketch-Book  and  The  Idle 
Man,  were  not  enough  in  demand  to  make  their  publi 
cation  remunerative ;  people  of  cultivated  tastes  were 
few  in  number,  often  widely  separated  from  each  other, 
and  too  much  occupied  with  professional  life  to  give 
more  than  a  glance  at  the  literature  of  the  day,  while 
many  then  devoting  themselves  to  literature  had  struck 
upon  veins  of  thought  quite  new  to  that  generation. 
Here  we  date  the  rise  of  whatever  is  original  and  pecu 
liar  in  American  letters.  In  the  writings  of  Dana,  the 
novels  of  Brown  and  Cooper,  the  essays  of  Irving,  and 
the  poetry  of  Drake,  Bryant,  and  Percival,  we  find  a 
certain  freshness  of  thought  and  individual  sentiment, 
which,  however  much  resembling  that  of  English  writers 
of  the  same  age,  is  as  different  in  its  character  as  new 
habits  of  national  life  and  a  return  to  nature  and  indi 
vidual  experience  and  thought  could  make  it. 

The  following  letter  from  Mrs.  Louisa  C.  Tuthill,  her 
self  a  writer  of  note,  explains  graphically  the  j^^  from 
circumstances  which  led  to  Percival's  first  ap-  Mrs- TuthilL 
pearance  as  an  author. 

PRINCETON,  N.  J.,  June  8,  1863. 

DEAR  SIR,  — 

You  ask  of  me  some  reminiscences  of  the  poet  Per 
cival. 


68  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  VL 

Poor  Percival !  Vividly  was  he  brought  to  mind  by 
an  old  letter  on  which  I  laid  my  hand  a  few  days  since. 
The  coarse  sheet  of  foolscap  is  in  the  "  sere  and  yellow 
leaf,"  and  the  crooked,  cramped  chirography  betrays  at 
a  glance  the  sad  condition  of  the  poet  when  it  was 
written. 

In  order  to  understand  Percival's  letter,  some  prefatory 
explanation  is  necessary.  In  the  year  1820,  three  inti 
mate  friends  at  New  Haven,  desiring  to  cultivate  a  taste 
for  literature  among  the  young  people  of  that  city,  estab 
lished  a  semi-weekly  paper,  to  be  made  up  entirely  of 
original  articles  of  an  a3Sthetic  character.  This  little 
semi-hebdomadal,  designed  for  merely  local  circulation, 
The  Micro-  was  entitled  "  The  Microscope,  edited  by  a  Fra- 
scope.  terrrity  of  Gentlemen.  *  Tros  Tyriusque  mihi 
nullo  discrimine  agetur.'  —  VIRG."  The  gentlemen  of  the 
fraternity  were  Nathaniel  Chauncey,  Cornelius  Tuthill, 
and  Henry  E.  Dwight ;  Mr.  Tuthill  being  the  principal 
editor. 

In  the  Microscope  many  who  have  since  become  dis 
tinguished  authors  made  their  first  literary  essay,  — 
plumed  their  wings  for  a  higher  flight.  Others,  who 
would  have  become  equally  distinguished,  early  jour 
neyed  to  "the  better  land."  Among  these  were  Pro 
fessor  Fisher  of  Yale  College,  the  profound  scholar  and 
mathematician,  whose  youthful  genius  astonished  men 
grown  gray  in  pursuit  of  science  ;  the  poet  Brainard,* 
who 

"  By  the  wayside  fell  and  perished, 
Weary  with  the  march  of  life  " ; 


*  He  was  the  classmate  of  Percival.  He  had  a  mind  of  great  bril 
liancy,  but  was  called  the  laziest  man  in  his  class.  His  poems,  with  a 
memoir  attached,  were  published  in  Hartford  in  1842. 


]  THE  MICROSCOPE.  69 

Cornelius  Tuthill,  who,  though  young  himself,  had 
nobly  earned  the  title  of  "  the  young  man's  friend  " ;  the 
brilliant  and  much-loved  Henry  E.  D wight,  who,  having 
prepared  himself  by  study  and  foreign  travel  for  exten 
sive  usefulness,  ripened  early  for  "  glory  and  immor 
tality." 

"  Sic  itur  ad  astra." 

James  Gates  Percival  was  associated  with  this  fra 
ternity  in  the  Microscope.  The  diffident  author  was 
then  a  medical  student  at  New  Haven.  Mr.  Tuthill 
made  his  acquaintance  through  Mr.  William  C.  Fowler, 
then  a  tutor  in  the  college,  and  solicited  contributions  for 
his  paper.  Percival,  on  condition  that  he  should  Percivai  a 
remain  anonymous,  at  a  later  period  placed  all  c°ntnbutor- 
his  manuscripts  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Tuthill,  requesting 
him  to  select  from  them  such  pieces  as  he  deemed  worthy 
of  publication.  The  poetry,  however,  was  far  from  value 
less  in  the  estimation  of  the  bashful  author ;  he  had  care 
fully  copied  it  into  a  large  volume.  Many  of  the  fugitive 
pieces  were  juvenile  productions,  many  others  were  the 
mournful  utterances  of  a  solitary,  desponding  being,  unfit 
to  be  among  the  bustling  crowd  of  busy  men.  The  long 
est  poem,  entitled  The  Suicide,  filled  twelve  pages  of  the 
Microscope.  It  is  as  crude  and  sombre  as  Stonehenge, 
and  might  have  been  written  by  one  of  the  Druids. 
Though  some  of  the  lines  are  weak  and  others  rough, 
yet  there  are  ever  and  anon  lightning-flashes  revealing 
the  innate  power  and  vivid  imagination  of  the  writer. 

The  following  stanzas  are  from  The  Suicide  :  — 

"  What  if  I  pry  beyond  the  yawning  grave ; 
Is  there  a  light  can  point  my  wildered  way  ? 
Is  there  an  arm  of  Mercy  stretched  to  save  ? 
0  help  that  arm,  and  guide  me,  genial  ray ! 


70  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  VL 

"  I  look,  but  all  is  darker  than  the  gloom 
That  hung,  a  sooty  mist,  o'er  Egypt's  land; 
I  listen,  all  is  stiller  than  the  tomb ; 
There  is  no  ray,  —  no  Mercy's  outstretched  hand. 

"  Come,  then,  each  busy  devil  to  my  breaet, 
Come  every  fiend  of  hell  and  nestle  there ! 
Rack  me !     Religion  cannot  give  me  rest; 
If  Mercy  will  not  whisper,—  yell,  Despair." 

This  is  sufficiently  Byronic  in  spirit !  The  Suicide, 
unfortunately,  serves  rather  as  an  exponent  of  the  au 
thor's  melancholy  than  of  his  genius. 

While  his  poems  were  being  published  and  admired, 
Percival  left  New  Haven  and  went  to  his  paternal  home 
in  Berlin,  Connecticut.  It  was  at  this  time  that  the  one 
A  wayward  master-chord  of  feeling  was  touched,  "  the  tones 
period.  of  wnose  vibrations  are  loudest  and  longest,  which 
blends  with  and  perchance  overpowers  all  other  emotions." 
Yet,  with  that  reticence  which  was  a  salient  feature  in 
the  idiosyncrasy  of  Percival,  "  he  never  told  his  love." 
This  concealed  and  hopeless  passion  no  doubt  increased 
the  melancholy  to  which  he  had  been  predisposed  from 
early  boyhood. 

He  now  frequently  wandered  day  and  night  in  the 
woods,  and  led  somewhat  of  that  hermit-life  which,  in 
after  years,  rendered  him  an  object  of  much  interest  and 
curiosity  to  the  people  of  New  Haven.  While  his  intel 
lect  was  thus  partially  eclipsed,  he  wrote  poems,  in  the 
Greek  style,  arranged  to  form  urns,  vases,  goblets,  hearts, 
and  other  fanciful  designs.  Percival  had  scarcely  recov 
ered  from  this  deep  despondency  when  he  wrote  the  fol 
lowing  letter. 


!  THE    MICROSCOPE.  71 

TO   CORNELIUS   TUTHILL. 

BERLIN,  November  1,  1820. 
CORNELIUS  TUTHILL,  ESQ.  : 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  received  a  short  time  since  a  letter 
from  your  colleague,  Mr.  D  wight,  in  which  he  informed 
me  that  he  would  leave  my  manuscripts  with  three  entire 
copies  of  the  Microscope  in  a  package  at  Dr.  Ives's.  I 
should  not  be  able  to  get  them  from  Dr.  Ives,  and  I  am 
unwilling  they  should  be  left  there,  for  particular  reasons. 
Cyprian  Hart,  of  the  Junior  Class,  is  a  townsman  of  mine, 
and  would,  I  think,  bring  them  to  me  at  the  close  of  this 
term.  If  you  would  take  the  trouble  to  call  on  Hart  and 
leave  them  with  him,  if  he  would  engage  to  bring  them 
to  me,  you  would  oblige  me  much.  If  not,  I  would  thank 
you  to  keep  them  by  you  till  next  spring.  I  shall  then 
be  able  to  take  them  myself  or  send  for  them  directly. 

I  should  esteem  it  a  favor  to  receive  a  line  from  you  on 
the  subjects  of  my  poems.  I  have  a  strong  desire  to 
learn  exactly  what  the  public  think  of  them.  A  drown 
ing  man  catches  at  the  last  stick.  It  may  be  an  idle  thing 
for  me  to  make  this  inquiry  and  for  you  to  answer  it ;  but 
I  surely  can  be  excused  a  vanity  of  which  the  sainted 
Cowper  was  guilty ;  for  even  he  could  not  conceal  his  joy 
when  told  that  Fox  had  quoted  his  Task  in  Parliament. 
I  beg  you  to  tell  me  all  you  know  of  the  public  opinion 
of  my  poems.  I  wish  to  know  whether  any  of  them  are 
calculated  to  survive  the  mere  trash  of  the  day,  or  whether 
they  are  all  vox  et  prceterea  nihil.  I  ask  not  this  because 
I  feel  myself  authorized  to  trespass  on  your  time,  but  be 
cause  you  better  than  any  other  can  gratify  this  last  of 

my  wishes. 

Your  friend, 

JAMES   G.  PERCIVAL. 


72  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  VI. 

P.  S.  —  I  thank  you  for  the  copies  of  the  Microscope 
you  have  proposed  to  send  me.  As  the  paper  was  to 
you  a  losing  undertaking,  I  can  consider  them  only  as  a 
gift.  If  the  poems  you  have  inserted  have  done  the 
paper  any  credit,  I  am  amply  rewarded. 

When  this  letter  was  received,  Mr.  Tuthill  had  gone  to 
Europe ;  Mr.  Chauncey  and  Mr.  Dwight  were  out  of 
town.  Percival's  manuscripts  and  a  parcel  for  him  had 
been  left  at  the  very  place  where,  for  "  particular  rea 
sons,"  he  did  not  wish  them  to  be.  Nobody  could  con 
jecture  those  reasons.  Immediately  I  sent  for  the  manu 
scripts  and  parcel,  and  wrote  to  him  that  they  were  in  my 
possession  and  at  his  disposal.  Possibly  Percival  may 
have  preserved  my  letter,  for  it  had  an  influence  on  his 
future  career.  The  reception  of  his  poems  by  the  pub 
lic  was  mentioned  in  the  most  flattering  terms  and  the 
epistle  concluded  with  some  words  to  this  effect :  "  Cheer 
yourself  with  the  expectation  of  fame  and  usefulness, 
when  the  efforts  of  your  genius  are  widely  known." 

The  voice  of  praise  came  sweet  and  soothing  to  the 
ear  of  the  despondent  poet.  A  few  weeks  after  the  re 
ception  of  the  letter,  he  suddenly  appeared  before  the 
writer.  A  tall,  spare,  bent  figure;  a  thin,  pale  face;  large, 
Mrs.  Tuthm  dark-blue  eyes,  which  might  have  suggested  the 

encourages 

him  to  be-     picture  of  the  poet  s,  "  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling    ; 

come  an 

author.  those  remarkable  eyes  were  fixed  on  me  with 
earnest  inquiry  for  a  full  minute,  as  the  stranger  stood 
upon  the  threshold  of  the  open  door.  In  a  faint,  scarcely 
articulate  whisper,  he  at  length  said,  "  Dr.  Percival." 

Alarmed  at  his  wild  and  melancholy  expression,  and 
still  more  at  the  mention  of  his  name,  I,  however,  led 
the  way  to  a  parlor,  and  motioned  him  to  be  seated.  A 


HIS    FIRST    VOLUME.  73 

silence  of  some  minutes  followed,  during  which  the  poet 
trembled  like  a  guilty  culprit  about  to  be  condemned  to 
condign  punishment. 

"  Your  manuscripts,  —  I  will  get  them,"  I  faltered  out, 
and  left  the  room. 

When  I  placed  the  parcel  in  his  hand,  he  said,  "  En 
couraged  by  your  letter,  I  am  going  to  New  York  to  get 
a  volume  of  my  poems  published.  What  do  you  think 
of  my  tragedy  ?  " 

Against  assuming  the  chair  of  the  critic,  with  hisjudex 
damnatur  cum  nocens  absolvitur,  youth  and  several  other 
cogent  disqualifications  might  have  been  pleaded,  but  the 
case  was  urgent,  and  the  young  novice,  as  the  mouthpiece 
of  the  public,  launched  forth  into  enthusiastic,  indiscrimi 
nate  praise  of  the  tragedy  and  the  minor  poems.  In 
this  case  commendation  unqualified  was  the  best  tonic 
for  "  the  mind  diseased." 

The  poet  went  on  his  way  cheered  and  encouraged. 
Though  still  overshadowed  by  melancholy,  he  was  at  that 
time  in  as  full  possession  of  reason  as  at  any  subsequent 
period  of  his  singular  life.  A  few  months  after  this  un 
expected  interview,  I  received  a  volume  of  "  Percival's 
Poems."  And  such  a  volume !  Poor  Percival !  He 
who  so  dearly  loved  Elzevirs,  and  all  other  splendid  edi 
tions  of  books !  Some  of  your  readers  may  Hig  earl 
remember  that  small  duodecimo,  badly  printed  volume. 
on  whity-brown  paper,  with  its  dingy  yellow  cover ;  its 
leaves  all  rough  and  ragged  at  the  edges,  —  a  humble 
avant-coureur  of  the  beautiful  volumes  of  Percival's 
poems  which  have  since,  from  time  to  time,  been  issued 
from  the  English  and  the  American  press.  During  the  year 
after  the  little  volume  appeared,  Percival  was  a  frequent 
visitor  at  my  New  Haven  home.  He  did  me  the  honor 
4 


74  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  VI. 

to  read  to  me,  or  to  ask  me  to  read  to  him,  in  manuscript, 
some  of  the  sweetest  poems  he  ever  wrote.  I  well  re 
member  his  sitting  in  almost  breathless  silence  while  I 
performed  the  difficult  task  of  reading  out  to  him  the 
"  Coral  Grove."  His  ear  was  acutely  sensitive ;  and  a 
mistake  in  the  rhythm  or  measure,  or  a  wrong  emphasis, 
would  be  distressing  to  him. 

His  voice  was  so  low  and  monotonous  as  to  render  it 
almost  impossible  to  keep  up  the  connection  in  his  con 
versation.  One  had  to  be  satisfied  with  the  beautiful 
glowing  thoughts  which  occasionally  reached  the  ear,  and 
to  fill  up  here  and  there  a  hiatus  in  the  best  manner 
that  the  taste  and  imagination  of  the  listener  could  sug 
gest 

Yours  truly, 

LOUISA  C.   TUTHILL. 

While  this  was  passing  through  the  press,  he  was  think 
ing,  at  the  instance  of  his  friends  in  Philadelphia,  of 
making  that  city  his  future  home,  but  nothing  came  of  it. 

The  little  volume  had  the  following  title-page  :  — 

POEMS 

BY 

JAMES    G.    PERCIVAL. 


'  Go,  little  book;  from  this  my  solitude 
I  cast  thee  on  the  waters,  —  go  thy  ways ; 
And  if,  as  I  believe,  thy  vein  be  good, 
The  world  may  find  thee  after  certain  days."  —  SOUTHET. 


NEW   HAVEN: 

PUBLISHED  FOR  THE  AUTHOR, 
JULY  25,  1821. 


jsTsfe.]  HIS    FIRST    VOLUME.  75 

The  Preface  which  followed  contains  matters  of  bio 
graphical  interest : — 

"  I  have  a  few  things  to  say  relative  to  this  volume. 
I  am  not  anxious  to  write  an  apology  first.  It 

The  Preface. 

must  stand  or  fall  by  its  own  merits.  But  there 
are  certain  circumstances  connected  with  its  composition 
and  publication  which  I  cannot,  in  justice  to  myself,  for 
bear  stating  to  the  public.  A  large  number  of  the  smaller 
pieces  have  before  appeared  in  the  Microscope,  a  period 
ical  paper  published  last  year  in  New  Haven.  I  have 
learnt  from  various  sources  that  they  were  well  received. 
I  do  not  deny  that  this  circumstance,  in  connection  with 
the  fact  that  they  were  copied  into  many  prints  of  the  day, 
has  been  some  inducement  to  the  publication  of  this  vol 
ume.  These  pieces  have  been  written  at  different  ages. 
They  have  been  accumulating  on  my  hands  for  nearly 
ten  years.  I  conceived  it  but  just  that  I  should  give  an 
index  on  this  point.  They  have  all  been  written  to  em 
body  my  emotions,  or  to  give  lightness  to  a  heavy  hour, 
with  the  exception  of  the  Tragedy  and  the  essay  on  the 
Drama.  These  were  written  for  particular  occasions. 
The  greater  part  of  the  former  was  written  some  years 
since  as  a  college  exercise. 

"  Perhaps  some  apology  may  be  demanded  for  The 
Suicide.  I  can  only  say  that  it  is  intended  as  a  picture 
of  the  horror  and  wretchedness  of  a  youth  ruined  by 
early  perversion,  and  of  the  causes  of  that  perversion. 
It  is  not  without  a  moral  to  those  who  can  see  it.  I  wish 
to  impress  upon  the  minds  of  all  who  read  it  the  great 
danger  of  indulging  the  evil  propensities,  or  tampering 
with  the  feelings  of  children.  This  is  a  truth  which  I 
have  felt  in  the  deepest  recesses  of  thought  and  feeling ; 
and  I  would,  if  possible,  lift  my  voice  against  all  those 


76  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [ CHAP.  VI. 

noxious  arts  which  are  daily  polluting  the  stream  of  life, 
and  sinking  man  lower  and  lower  in  degradation.  In 
Prometheus  I  have  written  freely  on  a  variety  of  sub 
jects.  It  has  been  written  so  far  under  the  influence  of 
excited  feelings,  and  so  I  will  continue  it.  I  esteem  per 
fect  freedom  of  thought  my  first  and  greatest  privilege ; 
and  I  glory  that  I  live  in  a  country  where  this  privilege 
may  be  enjoyed.  I  trust  I  shall  never  become  the  ad 
vocate  or  the  pander  of  vice.  I  trust  I  have  not  pol 
luted  these  pages  with  aught  that  can  render  that  monster 
less  hateful  or  more  alluring.  I  have  said  a  few  things 
in  relation  to  Neapolitan  liberty  which  are  not  in  accord 
ance  with  historical  truth.  I  wrote  them  immediately  on 
the  reception  of  news  more  favorable  than  the  reality.  I 
have  expressed  opinions  in  this  volume  opposed  to  the 
commonly  received  opinions  of  society.  I  wish  I  could 
think  differently,  but  I  cannot.  It  is  indeed  a  very  com 
fortable  and  consoling  thing  to  look  from  the  sight  and  the 
feeling  of  so  much  wretchedness  to  a  brighter  being,  where 
the  most  ardent  mind  may  indulge  in  the  most  unbounded 
anticipations ;  but  the  mind  which  desires  it  most  ardently 
may  be  too  sadly  convinced  it  is  all  a  dream.  This  is 
the  first  time  I  have  appeared  before  the  world  as  an 
original  author.  It  may  be  the  last.  I  cannot  say  exegi 
monumentum  cere  perennius,  but  I  have  at  least  set  my 
self  up  to  be  applauded,  or  neglected,  or  damned.  On 
these  points  the  public  is  sovereign ;  but  I  hope  it  will 
do  me  justice.  I  ask  no  more." 

The  book  met  with  a  very  kind  reception.     No   re- 
its  recep-      views,  except  the  North  American,  lifted  it  into 
popular  favor  by  the  magic  of  their  word  ;  no 
patrons  stood  ready  to  take  the  trembling  author  by  the 
hand;  it  was  a  new  and  strange  event  for  a  young  man  to 


jj21^.]  HIS    FIRST    VOLUME.  77 

publish  a  volume  of  original  poetry,  and  so  few  announced 
the  poems.  But  Percival's  name  had  already  preceded 
him.  His  brilliant  talents  had  attracted  attention  in  col 
lege  and  while  studying  a  profession.  His  peculiar  life, 
his  partially  uncontrollable  tendencies  of  temperament, 
had  attracted  many  to  him  from  sympathy,  and  more 
from  curiosity.  He  was  known  to  a  few  in  Philadelphia, 
in  New  York,  in  Boston ;  and  at  Yale  and  in  New  Haven 
he  had  many  who  loved  him  and  were  glad  to  help  him. 
In  a  quiet  way  the  whole  edition  was  sold  in  one  year 
and  four  months  from  the  day  of  publication  ;  and  his 
publisher  says  there  was  "  a  great  call  for  the  First  Part 
of  Prometheus." 

The  reception  of  it  by  the  North  American  was  so 
cordial  that  it  deserves  quotation.  It  was  writ-  Criticised  by 
ten  by  the  late  Edward  Everett,  and  published  Mr- Everetu 
in  the  number  for  January,  1822.  He  said  :  "  The  little 
volume  which  he  has  presented  us  contains  the  marks  of  an 
inspiration  more  lofty  and  genuine  than  any  similar  collec 
tion  of  fugitive  pieces  which  has  come  to  our  notice  from 
a  native  bard."  "  The  Prometheus,  like  most  of  the  other 
pieces,  breathes  a  melancholy  spirit  too  deep  not  to  be 
real.  We  should  sincerely  regret  that  powers  so  fine  as 
Mr.  Percival  evidently  possesses  should  want  the  self- 
consciousness  which  they  ought  to  inspire,  or  should  feel 
doubt  of  that  public  favor  they  so  truly  deserve ;  and 
though  he  probably  does  not  rely  on  anything  he  has  yet 
written  as  giving  him  a  fair  title  to  the  rank  of  an  Amer 
ican  classical  poet,  yet  we  feel  no  hesitation  in  saying  that 
he  shares  with  few  the  gifts  which  might  make  him  one." 

There  is  evidence  that  these  words  had  much  influence 
upon  him.  These  were  happy  days.  He  was  now  in  New 
Haven,  off  and  on.  His  ambition  was  gratified  at  the  sale 


78  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.          [CHAP.  VI. 

of  his  poems,  and  his  mind  was  stayed  by  delightful  anti 
cipations  of  future  authorship.  One  day,  shortly  after 
his  book  came  out,  he  met  his  old  friend  Dr.  Barnes  in 
the  street,  and  with  an  unusually  happy  expression  upon 
his  features,  asked  if  he  was  going  to  remain  long  in 
town  ;  and  finding  he  was  not,  said,  "  Wait  a  minute  "  ; 
then,  running  to  his  room,  he  brought  down  a  copy  of  his 
little  volume,  and  adding,  "  Here,  take  that,"  gave  it  to 
him  and  immediately  disappeared.  This  is  only  one  of 
the  many  instances  of  his  shy  and  peculiar  manner  among 
his  friends.  At  about  the  same  time  he  met  Professor 
Olmsted,  to  whom,  with  the  same  bashful  delight,  he  offered 
his  volume,  and  was  greatly  pleased  when  the  Professor 
replied  that  he  had  already  procured  a  copy  and  read  it. 
He  was  now  engaged  as  Curator  of  the  Botanical 
1821.  Garden  which  Dr.  Ives  had  just  formed.  The 
S^BoteS?6  Doctor  nad  received  large  quantities  of  seeds 
cai  Garden.  conecteci  from  different  parts  of  the  world,  in 
cluding  over  a  thousand  varieties  from  the  King  of 
France.  These  were  given  to  Percival  to  plant,  and  he 
was  at  first  delighted  with  his  work.  It  gave  full  scope 
to  his  love  of  botany.  But  unfortunately  he  was  now 
taken  down  three  or  four  weeks  with  the  typhoid  fever ; 
and  when  he  recovered,  he  could  not  be  induced  to  re 
sume  his  duties.  The  following  brief  note,  without  date, 
announced  his  change  of  purpose  :  — 

DR.  IVES,  — 

A  circumstance  has  arisen  which  induces  me  not  to 
wish  to  be  considered  as  engaged  for  the  office.  As  you 
have  not  yet  begun  to  fix  it  up,  I  hasten  to  give  you  this 

notice. 

Yours  respectfully, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 


Jxk]  GOES    TO    CHARLESTON,    S.   C.  79 

The  cause  of  his  leaving  was  probably  this.     A  Scotch 
botanical  lecturer,  by  the  name  of  Whitlow,  who  Goes  to 

Charleston, 

had  been  in  New  Haven  once  before,  and  whose  s.  c.,  with  a 

botanical 

illuminated  exhibitions  of  botanical  specimens  lecturer. 
had  attracted  large  crowds,  had  returned  to  the  city,  and 
invited  Percival  to  assist  him,  as  they  travelled  through 
the  country.     It  was  in  the  line  of  his  own  preferences, 
and  he  engaged  to  go.     They  both  set  sail  in  a  packet 
from   New  York   in   November,   1821,  for   Charleston, 
S.  C.,  where  they  arrived  about  the  beginning  of  the 
new  year.     It  is  a  curious  incident  that,  as  the 
ship  crossed   the   Charleston  bar,  his   brother 
Oswin  was  passing  out,  over  the  same  bar,  homeward 
bound,  within  hailing  distance  ;  yet  neither  one  knew,  at 
the  time,  of  the  other's  nearness.     Mr.  Whitlow,  who  had 
great  confidence  in  himself,  was  to  do  the  lecturing,  while 
Percival  was  to  attend  to  the  arranging  of  specimens  and 
the  other  labors  of  an  assistant.     But  it  was  not  in  the 
nature  of  things  that  such  an  engagement  could  last  long. 
Whitlow  was  quick-tempered  and  violent  and  was  not 
scientifically  accurate  in  his  descriptions  of  plants ;  and 
to  Percival's  fine  scholarship  the  continual  blun-  Leaves 
ders  of  his  partner  were  very  annoying.     In  his    ' 
honest  demand  for  accuracy  and  truth  he  remonstrated ; 
this  made  Whitlow  angry,  and  they  separated. 

Percival  was  now  alone,  and  without  resources.    But  he 
soon  found  friends  in  the  Babcock  brothers,  who  had  gone 
out  from  New  Haven  to  set  up  a  bookstore  in  Charleston. 
At  first    he  determined   to  practise  medicine.  Puts  out  MS 
He  hired  an  office  and  put  up  his  sign  ;  but  no  doctor. 
patients  came.     Mr.  Sidney  Babcock  tells  me  that  he 
used  sometimes  to  go  out  to  walk  with  him  while  there. 
He  saw  him  perhaps  six  times  in  all ;  and  during  one  of 


8o  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  VI. 

these  walks,  Percival  said,  "  If  I  don't  succeed  in  my 
profession,  this  country  will  not  hold  me."  His  reputa 
tion  as  a  poet  had  preceded  him.  Alluding  to  this 
afterwards  in  a  conversation  with  the  late  S.  G.  Good 
rich,  he  said,  "  I  had  got  my  name  up  for  writing 
People  do  verses,  and  found  myself  ruined."  "How  so?" 
poetiS  -  asked  Mr.  Goodrich.  He  replied,  "  When 
a  person  is  really  ill  he  will  not  send  for  a 
poet  to  cure  him." 

He  employed  the  leisure  of  his  office  in  writing  verses. 
Some  of  these  were  published  in  the  Charleston  Courier, 
then  edited  by  one  who  had  a  genial  appreciation  of  liter 
ature  and  of  literary  men, — Mr.  A.  S.  Willington.  To  this 
he  contributed  his  "  Flower  of  a  Southern  Garden  newly 
Writes  po-  blowing,"  his  Coral  Grove,  his  Consumption,  and 

etry  for  the 

Courier.  those  poems  alluding  to  the  sea  and  the  loved 
ones  far  away,  which  appeared  in  the  second  number  of 
Clio,  and  which  in  light  cheerful  sentiment  and  easy  flow 
are  among  the  best  he  ever  wrote.  The  Courier  was  then 
the  first  literary  paper  in  the  South ;  and  his  chaste  and 
fragrant  poetry,  breathing  the  finest  aroma  of  nature  and 
free  from  all  touch  of  Byronism,  and  kindling  with  an 
inspiration  like  Shelley's,  at  once  attracted  attention. 
His  signature  was  always  P.  It  speedily  became  the 
nucleus  of  many  warm  friendships.  The  office  was 
given  up,  and  Percival  was  made  a  welcome  guest  in 
the  most  genial  and  accomplished  circles  in  the  city.  He 
Makes  found  a  warm  friend  in  the  Rev.  Samuel  Gil- 
DrenGitaln  man>  D-  D-'  the  pastor  of  the  Unitarian  Society, 
and  others.  an(j  m  those  davs  a  frequent  contributor  to  the 
North  American,  and  through  him  afterwards  gained  his 
first  introduction  to  the  literary  circles  of  Boston  and 
Cambridge.  He  also  became  intimate  with  William 


WRITES    POETRY    FOR    THE    COURIER.     8l 

Crafts,  a  fellow  poetical  contributor  to  the  Courier ;  and 
he  had  the  acquaintance  of  the  Gadsdens  and  the  Elliotts, 
families  whose  society  was  all,  in  its  tender  delicacy  and 
kind  appreciation,  which  even  so  sensitive  a  poet  as  Per- 
cival  could  desire.  There  is  every  evidence  in  his  poems, 
and  in  the  traces  left  among  his  papers,  that  he  kindly  en 
joyed  the  cheering  atmosphere  of  Charleston,  in  those 
days  the  pride  of  Southern  cities.  It  was  the  first  warm 
sunshine  in  which  he  had  ever  basked. 

His  poetry  drew  forth  the  following  response  from  a 
tuneful  brother :  — 

"LOVE  AT  THE  JOCKEY-CLUB  BALL. 

"Methinks,  said  Love,  as  I  went  to  the  race,       A  poetical 
I  '11  go  to  the  ball,  where  each  smiling  Grace,  tribute. 
Like  a  band  of  sylphs  in  their  mystic  round, 
Will  lightly  dance  to  the  music's  sound. 

"  I  '11  wear  me  a  sash  of  the  violet's  hue, 
As  bright  as  a  harebell  bathed  in  dew; 
And  I  '11  go  as  a  harper,  and  get  from  P. 
His  tuneful  lyre  of  minstrelsy. 

"  And  I  '11  sweep  its  melodious  silver  string, 
That  rival  beauty  and  youth  may  bring 
A  chaplet  of  bays  for  his  brow,  that  he 
May  remember  them,  when  he  thinks  of  me. 

"  So  said  Love,  —  and  away  he  flew 
For  Percival's  harp ;  for  full  well  he  knew, 
That  the  Muses  had  destined  his  hand  to  bear 
To  their  favored  bard  a  gift  so  fair. 

"E.  J." 

In  the  Courier  of  February  12,  1822,  he  published 
the  following  poem,  in  which  he  plays  cheerfully  with 
his  melancholy :  — 


82  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  VI. 

"  These  weeping  skies,  these  weeping  skies, 

They  weep  so  much,  that  I  weep  too ; 
And  everything,  like  Mary's  eyes, 

Around,  above,  below,  looks  blue. 
Such  days  as  these  will  never  do, 

My  Muse  can  never  soar  again ; 
Her  wings  are  wetted  through  and  through ; 

She  tries  to  fly,  but  all  in  vain. 

"  Love  brought  a  wreath,  a  laurel  wreath, 

And  it  was  steeped  in  fog,  not  dew; 
The  little  urchin  drooped  beneath, 
And  gladly  down  his  burden  threw. 
The  sylphs  have  sent  the  wreath  to  you,' 
He  laughed  as  he  his  errand  told ; 
What  makes  it  look  so  very  blue  ? ' 
Says  Love, '  It 's  only  touched  with  mould.'' 

"  I  twined  the  wreath  around  my  brow, 

And  felt  my  brain  grow  numb  and  chill ; 
If  I  had  worn  the  wreath  till  now, 

My  heart  had  been  forever  still. 
0,  skies  that  weep  so  much  will  kill 

The  Muses,  and  their  servant,  Love ; 
Their  home  is  on  the  sunny  hill, 

Where  naught  is  blue  but  heaven  above. " 

The  next  day  it  brought  him  these  lines,  suggested  by 
«  your  beautiful  poetry  which  appeared  in  the  Courier  of 
yesterday  " :  — 

"LOVE  AND  THE  POET. 

Another  "  Says  Love,  no,  no !  'to  weeping  skies  * 

tribute.  You  must  not  Mary's  eyes  compare ; 

Let  dews  descend  or  fogs  arise, 

And  darkly  curtain  earth  and  air. 

"  But  Mary's  eyes  of  ether  blue, 
As  sunbeams  pierce  the  lowering  gloom 
Through  skies  that  weep,  shall  shine  for  you, 
Like  stars  that  shades  of  night  illume. 


WRITES    POETRY    FOR    THE    COURIER.     83 

"  Time's  gath'ring  vapors  quickly  flee, 
Like  thistle-down,  they  're  light  as  air; 
They  ne'er  were  meant  for  you  or  me, 
You  know  we  've  naught  to  do  with  care. 

"  For  here  is  but  our  transient  home, 
To  bowers  of  bliss  we  soon  shall  go, 
Where  Eden's  flowers  eternal  bloom, 
And  streams  of  joy  celestial  flow. 

"E.  J." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

1822. 

CLIO  NO.  I.  —  HlS  POETHY  POPULAR.  —  COMES  BACK  TO  NEW  HAVEN. 

—  His  HABITS  IN  CONVERSATION  AND  IN  SOCIETY.  —  WISHES  A 
PROFESSORSHIP  IN  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY.  —  LETTERS  TO  MR. 
YVONNET.  —  HlS  VIEWS  OF  WOMAN.  —  DISAPPOINTED  IN  HIS 
SUCCESS  AS  A  POET. 

|S  a  means  of  support,  he  advertised  in  the 
Courier  of  January  14  to  deliver  his  "Course 
of  Lectures  on  Botany,  to  commence  the  second 
week  in  February."  The  terms  were  to  be 
Lectures  on  &VQ  dollars.  And  while  the  subscriptions  were 
Botany.  coming  in,  he  was  correcting  the  proof-sheets 
of  the  first  number  of  his  Clio,  which  was  published  at 
He  publishes  Charleston,  January  26,  1822,  by  his  friends 
ciio  NO.  i.  the  Babcockg.  The  title-page  bore  a  motto 
from  Petrarch :  — 

"  Che  sia/ra  i  magnanimipochi  /" 

His  Preface  shows  plainly  the  idea  and  scope  of  the 
volume,  which  in  poetry  was  an  original  ven- 

The  Preface.  * 

ture  in  our  literature.  He  says  :  — 
"  I  might  perhaps  give  the  public,  in  rounded  phrase, 
an  apology  for  obtruding  this  volume  on  their  notice  ; 
but  I  feel  no  inclination  to  beg  for  it  that  favor  which  its 
own  merits  will  not  obtain.  I  have  not,  like  Geoffrey  and 
the  Idle  Man,  concealed  my  real  name  beneath  a  fiction. 


CLIO    NO.    I.  85 

I  do  not  fear  to  answer  for  the  offences  of  my  own  effu 
sions,  and  I  do  not  expect  from  them  a  weight  of  honor 
too  great  for  my  own  shoulders  to  bear.  I  have  offered 
this  volume  as  the  first  number  of  a  series  which  may 
perhaps  be  continued.  But  I  make  no  promise.  It  may 
not  only  be  the  first,  but  the  last  of  the  family.  At  least, 
I  do  not  intend  to  limit  the  appearance  of  these  numbers 
to  stated  periods  ;  but  should  I  find  myself  warmed  by 
the  sun  of  public  patronage,  and  feel  my  fancy  free  to 
expatiate  in  a  happy  vein,  I  shall,  as  soon  as  the  materials 
are  sufficiently  accumulated,  again  embody  them  and  give 
them  to  the  world. 

"  If  I  mistake  not,  we  are  indebted  to  our  distinguished 
fellow-citizen  Irving  (a  man  whom  his  country 
should  be  proud  to  honor,  and  who  so  becomingly 
discharges  the  functions  of  minister  plenipotentiary  of 
American  taste  and  genius  in  the  literary  republics  of 
Europe)  for  the   plan  of  combining  elegant  essays  and 
pleasing  narratives,  in  numbers,  which  do  not  issue  from 
the  overdrawn  fountains  of  monthly  and  quarterly  litera 
ture,  but  roll  on  in  vigorous  fulness,  when  the  burdened 
spirit  lets  loose  its  overflowings.     In  his  own  native  land 
he  had  found  his  imitators  springing  up  around  him,  like 
meadow  flowers  around  our  proudest  lily;*  and  although 
we  have  seen  none  on  whom  his  entire  mantle  has  fallen, 
yet  the  Idle  Man  has  added  one  improvement,  by  Dana  and 
winding  up  his  numbers  with  the  sweet  touches  Bryant- 
of  the  gentle  harp  of  Green  Biver.f     I  have  ventured  to 
invert  the  order,  and  to  place  in  the  front  rank 

'  Words  that  move 
In  measured  file  and  metrical  array.' 

*  Lilium  sriperbum. 

\  In  allusion  to  one  of  Bryant's  Poems. 


86  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  VII. 

This  is  indeed  quite  a  modification  of  the  experiment, 
He  intends  an^  ^  remains  to  be  learned  how  the  public  will 
"periSaf  tolerate  a  periodical  poet,  who,  like  the  wander- 
poet."  jng  mjngtrel  of  old,  will  take  them  in  his  round 
at  certain  seasons,  and  demand  for  his  airy,  unsubstantial 
offerings  a  quantum  sufficit  of  more  tangible  existence. 
I  can  plead,  in  my  defence,  the  examples  of  the  German 
bards  Kotzebue,  Lessing,  and  Burger ;  but  these  Ger 
mans  are  a  visionary  race,  who  love  to  wander  in  the 
regions  of  mysticism  and  singularity,  and  are  there 
fore  not  to  be  pleaded  by  a  dweller  in  a  country  so  en 
lightened  and  business-like  as  ours.  I  would  not  indeed 
wish  to  split  hairs  with  Kant,  nor  dream  of  his  possible 
transcendentalisms  ;  nor  would  I  seal  the  fate  of  a  luck 
less  wight  by  the  unfortunate  swell  of  his  cranium ;  nor 
revel  among  the  caverns  and  churchyards,  the  ghosts  and 
goblins  of  moonstruck  ballad-mongers;  nor  rake  up  the  filth 
of  human  depravity  and  wretchedness  to  pour  it  over  such 
pages  as  Melmoth  and  Bethlem  Gabor ;  but  I  do  think  the 
plan  of  giving  the  public,  now  and  then,  a  neat,  tidy  vol 
ume  of  verses  and  stories,  in  which  perchance  the  music  of 
measure  shall  predominate  over  the  plain  talk  of  prose, — 
I  do  think  it  the  most  harmless  of  all  their  conceptions  I 
have  met  with,  and  the  least  likely  to  make  mad  lovers, 
mad  doctors,  or  mad  philosophers  of  anything  they  have 
dreamed  of  in  the  mysterious  seclusion  of  their  closets. 

"  But  I  will  now  speak  more  in  earnest.    I  do  not  intend 

to  give  satires  on  the  living  manners,  as  they  rise,  nor 

broad  grinning  caricatures  in  the  style  of  North  &  Co., 

but  to  delineate,  as  well  as  may  be.  the  beau 

His  views  of  J 

poetry.  ideal.  Poetry  should  be  a  sacred  thing,  not  to 
be  thrown  away  on  the  dull  and  low  realities  of  life.  It 
ehould  live  only  with  those  feelings  and  imaginations 


CLIO    NO.    I.  87 

which  are  above  this  world,  and  are  the  anticipations  of 
a  brighter  and  better  being.  It  should  be  the  creator  of 
a  sublimity  undebased  by  anything  earthly,  and  the  em- 
bodier  of  a  beauty  that  mocks  at  all  defilement  and  decay. 
It  should  be,  in  fine,  the  historian  of  human  nature  in  its 
fullest  possible  perfection,  and  the  painter  of  all  those 
lines  and  touches,  in  earth  and  heaven,  which  nothing  but 
taste  can  see  and  feel.  It  should  give  to  its  forms  the  ex 
pression  of  angels,  and  throw  over  its  pictures  the  hues 
of  immortality.  There  can  be  but  one  extravagance  in 
poetry,  —  it  is  to  clothe  feeble  conceptions  in  mighty  lan 
guage.  But  if  the  mind  can  keep  pace  with  the  pen, 
if  the  fancy  can  fill  and  dilate  the  words  it  summons  to 
array  its  images,  no  matter  how  high  its  flights,  how 
seemingly  wild  its  reaches,  the  soul  that  can  rise  will 
follow  it  with  pleasure,  and  find,  in  the  harmony  of  its 
own  emotions  with  the  high  creations  around  it,  the  surest 
evidence  that  such  things  are  not  distempered  ravings, 
and  that,  in  the  society  of  beings  so  pure  and  so  exalted, 
it  is  good  to  be  present.  I  might  go  on  to  speak  further 
of  the  nature  and  uses  of  poetry,  but  I  will  now  forbear. 
Perhaps  it  may,  hereafter,  be  the  subject  of  a  regular 
essay.  At  present,  I  will  only  observe  that  I  may  very 
possibly,  and  even  probably,  fail  in  my  efforts  at  the 
ideal ;  and  while  soaring  on  feeble  wings  too  near  the 
warmth  and  brightness  of  greater  spirits,  may  find  myself, 
at  the  end  of  my  excursion,  fallen  below  the  commoner 
level  of  existence,  — 

Sed  virtus  lentasse  bonum." 

He  here  touches  lightly  upon  the  general  subject  of 
poetry,  though  it  is  easy  to  be  seen  in  what  direction  his 
tastes  lay.  Clio  No.  I.  contained  only  one  hundred  and 


88  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  VII. 

eight  pages,  and  twenty-four  of  these  were  taken  up  with 
prose  essays,  one  on  Magnanimity  and  the  other  A  Pic 
ture  of  the  Feelings  and  Musings  of  an  Imaginative  Mind. 
This  had  also  his  well-known  metrical  essay  on  Poetry, 
beginning,  — 

"  The  world  is  full  of  poetry,  —  the  air 
Is  living  with  its  spirit." 

Its  reception  is  thus  alluded  to  by  one  of  his  corre 
spondents,  the  Rev.  James  Lawrence  Yvonnet,  who  was 
a  student  in  the  General  Theological  Seminary  in  New 
York  at  this  time  :  — 

"  As  to  literature,  we  have  The  Spy,  by  eur  fellow- 
citizen  James  Cooper ;  The  Pirate ;  Lord  By- 
its  reception. 

ron  s  three  dramatic  productions,  Cam,  a  Mys 
tery,  and  Sardanapalus ;  and  The  Two  Foscari,  tragedies. 
We  have  some  other  productions,  and  periodical  publica 
tions  innumerable.  But  besides  all  these,  I  have  now 
before  me  the  latest  work  that  has  appeared  in  our  city, 
Clio,  by  James  G.  Percival,  No.  I.  I  have  seen  but  few 
literary  gentlemen  since  I  procured  it ;  but  I  understand 
that  it  is  well  received."  And  so  it  was. 

In  May,  1822,  Dr.  Underwood  wrote  to  him  from 
Philadelphia  :  "  As  far  as  my  information  extends,  which 
is  not  indeed  very  extensive,  your  reputation  as  a  poet  of 
the  first  order  is  fast  gaining  ground."  B"ut  it  was  pub 
lished  too  far  away  from  the  great  literary  centre  of  the 
country,  and  at  a  day  when  too  few  cared  to  buy  poetry, 
to  give  the  poet  any  more  substantial  reward  than  repu 
tation.  It  was  a  great  improvement,  as  a  whole,  on  the 
one  published  six  months  previously. 

While  Clio  was  passing  into  the  hands  of  its  readers, 
the  poet  was  repeating  his  Lectures  on  Botany  to  his 
Charleston  friends,  and  enjoying  their  hospitality.  But 


HIS    POETRY    POPULAR.  89 

when  they  were  ended,  he  could  not.  properly  remain 
longer  at  the  South.    It  was  not  the  place  for  a  dependent 
literary  man  to  select  as  a  home.     Accordingly,  He  leaveg 
on  the  29th  of  March,  1822,  he  bade  his  friends  Charle8tOQ- 
farewell  and  set  sail  for  New  York.     A  graceful  tribute 
appeared  in  the  Courier  of  the  next  morning  from  the 
pen  of  the  editor  :  — 

"  Percival,*  the  American  poet,  who  is  reaping  in 
the  praises  of  his  countrymen  throughout  the  Mr.  wniing- 
Union  the  fruits  of  his  genius  and  the  harvest  toa's  tribute< 
of  his  hopes,  left  Charleston  yesterday  in  the  Empress 
for  New  York.  It  is  honorable  to  this  country,  that  his 
talents  should  be  so  generally  appreciated.  He  is  destined 
to  outlive  many  generations  after  this  in  the  annals  of 
men. 

"  We,  in  Charleston,  loved  him  for  the  artless  simpli 
city,  the  delicate  sensitiveness,  the  sweet  timidity  of  his 
spirit  and  his  manner ;  and  we  admired  the  amazing  fertility 
of  his  mind,  always  spontaneously  pouring  forth,  as  from 
an  exhaustless  spring,  pure  and  beautiful  and  unearthly 
thoughts. 

"^We  sympathized  with  him  too,  for  he  was  at  times 
melancholy  and  dejected,  as  Genius  is  when  it  is  on  the 
earth. 

'  Now  bathed  in  h^les  of  heaven,  the  seraph  glows, 
And  power  and  fume  and  wealth  and  worth  bestows ; 
Now  shrouds  in  gloom  its  dimly  imaged  form, 
Glares  through  the  clouds  and  wails  amid  the  storm.' 

"  It  was  the  charm  of  the  Courier  to  be  favored  with 
the  production  of  his  muse.  He  left  a  few  with  us  as  a 
memorial.  One  of  them  is  subjoined.  It  is  bright  and 

*  His  poem,  The  Farewell,  was  evidently  written  with  reference  to 
this  occasion. 


90  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  VH. 

pure  and  cold  and  melancholy,  —  such  as  you  would  ex 
pect  from  a  fountain  of  elegant  thought  in  a  sensitive  and 
brittle  vase. 

*  I  saw  on  the  top  of  a  mountain  high 

A  gem  that  shone  like  fire  by  night; 
It  seemed  a  star  that  had  left  the  sky, 

And  dropped  to  sleep  on  the  lonely  height. 
I  climbed  the  peak  and  found  it  soon, 

A  lump  of  ice  in  the  clear  cold  moon. 
Can  you  its  hidden  sense  impart  ? 

'T  was  a  cheerful  look,  —  and  a  broken  heart.— P.1  " 

The  poems  over  the  signature  P.  had  prepared  the 
people  of  New  Haven  to  better  recognize  the  genius  of 
one  whom  they  could  claim  as  their  own  poet.  He  re- 
He  has  turned  to  that  city  late  in  the  spring.  Appre- 
eunny  days.  cjatjye  people  opened  their  doors  cordially  to 
him  now,  and  his  own  experience  with  the  more  social 
ways  of  the  South  prepared  him  to  enjoy  society ;  and  this 
he  did  to  a  great  degree,  but  ill  health  and  a  tendency  to 
mental  depression  unfitted  him  for  any  but  the  most  con 
genial  companions,  and  made  him  unduly  sensitive  to  im 
aginary  slights  and  neglects.  The  Rev.  Royal  Robbins 
gives  a  pleasing  account  of  his  manners  and  presence  at 
this  time  :  — 

"  He  is  cold  and  diffident  in  his  manners,  yet  stead- 
His  manners  fast  in  his  feelings,  frank  and  candid  in  the  ex- 

and  conver-  .  .    .  ,  .      , 

eation.  pression  of  his  opinions,  and  particularly  averse 
to  display  and  noisy  approbation,  though  keenly  alive  to 
the  enjoyments  to  be  derived  from  a  delicate  and  con 
siderate  expression  of  public  regard.  His  passion  for 
study,  and  the  reserve  and  even  timidity  of  manner 
which  characterizes  him  in  mixed  company,  may  naturally 
lead  common  observers  to  suppose  that  he  has  little  apti 
tude  for  social  intercourse  and  little  delight  in  it.  But 


HIS    HABITS    IN    CONVERSATION.  91 


JEi.  27.J 


this  opinion,  if  it  be  entertained  by  any,  respecting  the 
poet,  is  incorrect.  He  may  never  be  known  in  mixed 
company  in  all  the  intellectual  superiority  which  distin 
guishes  him,  yet  in  the  free  communications  of  intimacy 
few  discover  more  ability  or  are  more  entertaining, 
and  none  less  dogmatic  or  mystical.  His  range  of  topics 
extends  to  every  department  in  morals,  science,  politics, 
history,  taste,  and  literature.  On  points  as  to  which  he 
differs  from  others,  he  can  be  approached  without  the 
danger  of  offending  even  his  strong  sensibility.  Argu 
ments  he  seems  to  hear  and  weigh  with  much  considera 
tion,  but  his  own  opinions  he  maintains  with  great  firm 
ness  ;  he  is  always  ready  and  ingenious,  and  often 
convincing  in  his  answers.  He  rarely  ventures  mere 
assertions,  and  few,  perhaps,  are  more  uniformly  in  the 
habit  of  maintaining  their  opinions  by  particular  facts 
and  strenuous  and  elaborate  reasonings.  One  peculiarity 
may  be  observed  in  his  manner  of  conversation,  and  that 
is,  when  he  approaches  a  subject  he  enters  deeply  into  it, 
views  it  on  every  side,  and  pursues  it  till  it  is  exhausted, 
if  it  be  exhaustible. 

"  Dr.  Percival  is  a  lover  of  rural  walks  and  rural  re 
tirement  ;  especially  have  the  external  objects  His  fondness 

i  /,   ,  .  .  ,  .for  outward 

and  scenery  of  his  native  parish  thrilled  his  nature. 
bosom  with  delight,  as  well  from  their  variegated  beauty 
as  from  the  associations  of  his  childhood.  In  conversing 
of  these  rambles,  however,  the  poet's  remarks  do  not  often 
turn  on  the  beauties  of  nature,  which  are  so  apt  to  capti 
vate  a  poetic  mind.  These  beauties  he  has  certainly  felt 
exquisitely,  but  he  reserves  the  expression  of  his  feelings 
for  the  chosen  hours  of  solitude,  and  gives  them  to  the 
public  in  verse.  His  conversation  more  commonly  as 
sumes  a  scientific  cast,  and  turns  frequently  upon  botany, 


92  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  VII. 

mineralogy,  geological  appearances,  and  the  phenomena 
of  nature  in  general."  * 

"  His  only  fault  in  conversation,  if  fault  it  should  be 
His  fault  in  called,  was  that  irrepressible  communicative- 
conversation.  ness^  go  apt  to  resuit  from  Jong-continued  and 

solitary  study.  The  material  of  his  conversation  was 
rich  and  interesting  knowledge,  thought,  and  sentiment, 
—  not  idle  words.  Those  who  had  the  good  fortune  to 
obtain  ready  access  to  him  were  amply  rewarded  for  their 
patience  as  listeners.  His  mind  could  easily  be  led  to 
poetry  and  criticism,  when  his  remarks  would  be  delight 
fully  genial  and  suggestive  ;  but  he  seldom  selected  these 
topics  himself.  Indeed,  his  conversation  generally  fol 
lowed  the  lead  of  others."  f 

At  this  time  there  was  a  vacant  professorship  in  Har- 
He  seeks  a  vard  Universit}',  which  Percival  desired.  He 
Fnr°Svardip  went  to  Boston  to  see  Professor  Ticknor  and 
University.  Q^j-g  m  regard  to  it ;  and  he  also  wrote  to  his 
friend  Dr.  Oilman,  who,  though  living  in  South  Carolina, 
had  much  influence  at  Cambridge.  This  is  Dr.  Gilman's 
reply :  — 

TO  JAMES   G.  PERCIVAL. 

CAMBRIDGE,  September  20,  1822. 

MY  DEAR  SIR, — 

Your  letter  reached  me  by  a  circuitous  route,  having 
Letter  from  first  gone  to  Charleston,  and  then  been  sent  on 
Dr.  Oilman.  ^Q  t^g  pjace>  j  wag  ma(]e  to  understand,  on  my 

arrival  here,  August  18,  that  you  were  in  Boston.  I  im 
mediately  made  every  possible  inquiry,  going  to  several 
boarding-houses  where  I  thought  it  likely  you  might  re- 

*  Kettell's  Specimens  of  American  Poets. 
t  Percival's  Poems,  Vol.  I.  pp.  xlviii.,  xlix. 


JR.]  WISHES    A    PROFESSORSHIP.  93 

main,  and  to  the  Boston  Gazette  office,  which  had  an 
nounced  your  arrival  in  the  city,  and  to  Mr.  Williams's 
house,  and  several  other  places,  but  in  vain.  At  length, 
I  understood  that  you  had  evasit,  erupit,*  etc.,  and  I  was 
disappointed  in  my  intention  of  introducing  you  to  my 
friends  here,  and  showing  you  all  the  wonders  of  Com 
mencement.  With  regard  to  the  principal  object  of  your 
letter,  I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  say  that  it  is  the  in 
tention  of  the  Corporation  of  Harvard  College  to  distrib 
ute  the  duties  of  the  late  professorship  among  the  other 
instructors  of  the  institution,  until  the  funds  of  the  foun 
dation  accumulate  to  a  given  sum;  Mr.  Frisbie  having 
been  partly  supported  out  of  the  general  college  treasury. 
I  have  purchased  and  read  with  much  pleasure  your 
second  Clio.  I  recommend  it  to  everybody,  though  many 
have  already  gotten  it.  The  sales  have  been  considerable. 
I  shall  urge  Everett  to  give  a  generous  account  of  both 
numbers  in  the  North  American.  Mr.  Wells  wishes  me 
to  state  to  you,  that  he  (Wells  and  Lilly)  is  ready  to  re- 
publish  your  volume  in  an  elegant  way,  and  to  share  the 
profits.  He  has  no  doubt  that  it  will  sell  very  hand 
somely,  and  furnish  you  something  substantial.  Should 
the  sales  be  promising,  he  engages  to  purchase  your  right 
to  the  profits  by  a  round  sum.  Now  I  beg  you  to  consent 
to  this.  The  old  edition  is  out  of  print.  It  will  not  cost 
you  one  cent  to  have  a  new  one.  Wells  and  Lilly  will 
take  all  the  hazard.  If  you  wish  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  pray  give  it  into  my  hands.  Would  you  be  will 
ing  to  let  me  reduce  the  dimensions  ?  It  is  too  copious 
for  a  dollar  volume,  printed  as  it  ought  to  be.  If  my 
request  to  be  the  editor  be  too  presumptuous,  then  I  beg 
you  to  set  about  it.  The  republication  will  at  all  events 
*  Percival  was  in  Boston  in  the  spring  of  1822. 


94  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  VII. 

do  no  harm.  It  will  be  a  triumph  to  have  a  second  edi 
tion  called  for ;  and  a  second  edition  is  called  for,  by  a 
bookseller  being  willing  to  publish  it  at  his  own  risk.  I 
am  afraid  no  American  bookseller  will  offer  you  a  price. 
Pray  have  certain  passages  left  out.  It  will  conciliate 
many  excellent  readers.  It  will  not  subtract  a  particle 
from  your  independence.  Come,  stir  up  and  comply  with 
some  of  these  requests. 

Your  choice  of  a  place  to  live  in  and  practise  physic  is 
just  like  you.  You  are  an  unfortunate  wight.  I  do  hope 
that  some  inspiration  will  give  you  a  little  worldly  sense 
to  balance  the  unrivalled  measure  of  heavenly  elasticity 
which  makes  you  so  much  fitter  for  another  world  than 
this.  Write  immediately  to 

Your  patient  friend, 

SAMUEL  GILMAN. 

Shortly  before  he  left  New  Haven  on  his  way  to 
His  acquaint-  Charleston  he  made,  through  the  family  of 
Mr.  Yvonnet.  Mr.  Nathan  Whiting,  the  acquaintance  of  Mr. 
Yvonnet.  He  had  strong  literary  tastes  and  felt  much 
sympathy  with  Percival ;  and  when  they  parted  they 
promised  to  keep  up  a  correspondence,  the  first  in 
which  the  poet  ever  engaged.  A  quotation  has  already 
been  made  from  Mr.  Yvonnet's  first  letter  to  Percival. 
He  became  a  clergyman  in  the  Episcopal  Church,  but 
died  early.  By  the  kindness  of  his  brother,*  I  am  able  to 
give  all  the  letters  which  the  poet  wrote  to  him.  They  are 
the  confidential  revelations  of  his  feelings  at  a  very  crit 
ical  period.  In  his  first  letter,  dated  "  New  York,  Thurs 
day,  March  21,  1822,"  he  says :  "  I  have  heard  that  you 
are  engaged  in  delivering  Lectures  on  Botany,  a  subject  in 
*  Mr.  Francis  V.  Yvonnet  of  Galesburg,  Illinois. 


LETTER    TO    MR.    YVONNET.  95 

which  your  poems  evince  that  you  take  delight.  I  have 
read  with  pleasure  your  stanzas  To  the  Houstonia 
cerulea.  You  read  them  to  me,  I  think,  ere  you  left 
New  Haven.  The  stanzas  commencing, 

'  A  tulip  blossomed  one  morning  in  May,' 

are  excellent.  But  I  am  not  a  critic ;  therefore,  I  need 
not  add  anything  more.  Do  you  intend  soon  writing  a 
large  poem  ?  '  The  world  is  full  of  poetry/  you  say  ; 
and  you  say  true.  May  I  be  so  inquisitive  as  to  ask  you 
concerning  your  future  pursuits,  whether  you  intend  en 
tering  on  the  active  duties  of  your  profession,  or  remain 
ing,  as  you  have  termed  yourself,  *  a  periodical  poet.'  I 
I  am  anxious  that  you  should  write  to  me  immediately 
on  the  reception  of  this  hasty  epistle.  Tell  me  how  you 
are  pleased  with  Charleston,  whether  there  is  much  of  a 
literary  spirit  among  the  citizens,  and  all  those  other  par 
ticulars  which  you  know  will  prove  interesting  to  me. 
But  r6member  to  speak  more  particularly  of  yourself 
than  of  anything  else."  With  this  last  request  it  will  be 
seen  that  he  fully  complied. 

TO  JAMES  LAWRENCE  YVONNET. 

NEW  HAVEN,  June  11, 1822. 
DEAR  SIR, — 

I  received  a  letter  from  you  directed  to  me  at  Charleston 
a  few  days  since.  It  remained  a  long  time  in  j^^,.  to  Mr 
that  office,  and  was  then  forwarded  to  me.  You  YvOQnet- 
must  therefore  excuse  me  for  not  answering  you  earlier. 
Besides,  I  am  no  correspondent.  I  never  kept  up  a  regu 
lar  correspondence  in  my  life.  I  shall  therefore  perhaps 
disappoint  you  before  long.  I  returned  here  in  April,  and, 
like  a  fool,  concluded  to  try  authorship  as  a  profession.  I 


96  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [ CHAP.  VII. 

therefore  hired  a  pleasant  little  house  to  myself,  just  out 
of  town.  But  I  have  found  that  I  cannot  live  alone. 
With  the  exception  of  one  or  two  young  men,  I  have 
not  the  slightest  vestige  of  society.  In  fact,  I  have  noth 
ing  here  to  excite  me.  I  am  as  completely  without  im- 
He  is  dig-  mediate  motive  as  a  snail  in  his  shell.  I  am 

gustcd  with 

authorship,  utterly  disgusted  with  authorship.  I  shall  in 
the  course  of  this  month  publish  a  second  and  last  num 
ber  of  Clio,  and  then  I  am  determined  never  to  write 
another  line  of  poetry.  I  shall  then  engage  in  my  pro 
fession  and  in  good  earnest,  and  raise  a  battering-ram 
against  error  wherever  I  find  it.  I  want  something  to 
act  as  a  constant  powerful  excitement  upon  me,  and  I 
think  if  I  can  get  a  swarm  around  my  ears  I  shall  have 
something  to  keep  me  awake. 

I  know  of  no  more  contemptible  being  than  an  author 
who  writes  for  money.  He  converts  the  only  shrine 
where  mind  can  find  a  sure  asylum  into  a  huckster's 
shop.  He  makes  the  last  and  best  gift  to  man  —  language 
—  the  miserable  means  of  supplying  his  miserable  wants. 
If  I  must  labor  for  subsistence,  I  will  not  labor  with  my 
pen,  particularly  when  I  am  paid  at  a  meaner  rate  than 
a  shoeblack.  I  have  succeeded  in  causing  something  of 
a  stir  in  the  papers  at  least,  but  the  last  echoes  have  died 
away,  and  now  the  whole  of  it  appears  puff,  puff.  I  find 
myself  as  unnoticed  as  the  most  abject  would  desire  to 
be.  I  shall  leave  here  as  soon  as  I  have  finished  Clio 
and  can  get  away. 

Cities  are  truly  the  great  and  foul  ulcers  of  society, 
Cities  are  but  they  are  the  only  places  where  one  like  me 
forthe^a-9  can  &n&  his  excitement  or  reward,  and  they  are 
fortunate.  ^e  best  places  for  disappointed  hope  to  die  in, 
unnoticed  and  unknown.  St.  Pierre  says  cities  are  the 


LETTERS    TO    MR.    YVONNET.  97 

best  refuge  of  the  unfortunate,  the  place  where  they  can 
best  hide  themselves.  I  once  had  something  at  stake  in 
Philadelphia ;  I  think  I  shall  renew  my  stake  there  and 
fight  it  out  or  die.  I  am  sometimes  lost  when  I  think  of 
the  powerful  influence  of  external  excitement.  I  am  a 
trunk  without  it. 

Perhaps  I  do  not  say  too  much  when  I  assert  that  I 
have  gained  more  reputation  as  a  poet  than  any  Ameri 
can  before  me ;  and  after  all,  what  is  it  ?  Wretched  illu 
sion.  They  may  talk  of  the  pleasure  of  writing  and 
musing  and  imagining.  But  were  we  made  to  be 
dreamers  ?  I  have  as  comfortably  despicable  an  opin 
ion  of  the  mass  of  men  as  heart  could  wish,  Authorship 
but  yet  I  do  not  like  to  give  up  the  opinion  that  an^S?' 
there  are  some  gods  and  even  angels  among  thmg3  to0' 
them ;  but  the  charm  of  life  is  broken  with  me ;  the 
veil  that  looks  so  beautiful  around  us  has  been  torn  in 
pieces ;  and  after  all,  I  find  the  best  of  them  are  not 
much  better  than  I  am,  and  I  am  poor  enough,  heaven 
knows.  Some  are  mad  after  books ;  they  study  their 
health  out  and  find  it  trash.  Two  or  three  clear  turns 
>)f  the  eye  will  tell  them  as  much  as  an  age  of  mere  read 
ing  ;  and  half  of  written  knowledge  is  very  good  to 
keep  children  out  of  mischief,  —  most  of  the  rest  ought 
to  be  burnt  up.  I  have  added  to  the  mountain  of  books 
and  the  myriad  of  authors.  But  I  sometimes  think  I  had 
better  be  annihilated,  books  and  all,  than  be  the  means 
of  making  fools  gape  and  girls  cry  as  I  perhaps  may. 
There  are  religious  madmen,  —  mad  after  heaven  or 
mad  with  fear  of  hell,  —  and  what  a  profitable  thing  it 
is  to  feel  these  hopes  and  cherish  these  fears.  A  young 
lady  whom  I  once  taught,  and  loved  too,  to  whom  I  was  so 
devoted  that  I  am  ashamed  of  it,  and  who,  I  am  bold  to 
5  G 


98  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  VII. 

say,  owes  the  best  part  of  her  mind  to  me,  has  lately,  I 
understand,  been  engaged  to  a  young  Episcopal  clergy 
man,  —  so  the  black  coat  ran  away  with  beauty.  They 
make  the  devotees ;  they  connect  the  love  of  God  with 
the  love  of  themselves,  worm  themselves  into  the  affec 
tions  by  a  sort  of  religious  courtship,  and  finally  steal 
them  away  from  those  frank  and  open  and  high-toned 
spirits  who  disdain  to  offer  anything  but  their  own  naked 
merit.  After  all,  what  a  silly  thing  it  is  to  regret  a  wo- 
He describes  man! — dear  sensibility,  oh,  la!  those  sighs,  and 
women.  tears,  and  glances,  and  whispers,  that  cheek  of 
roses,  and  bosom  of  heaped-up  lilies,  and  eye  of  diamond, 
and  breath  like  the  perfume  of  Arabia,  what  nonsense  and 
what  stark  lies,  too,  it  begets  at  the  pure  effervescence  of 
a  heavenly  spirit,  and  ends  in  —  the  straw !  Why  should 
young  ladies  be  so  anxious  to  [be  married]  ?  Every  one 
wants  a  husband,  and  sets  her  cap  for  him  as  nicely  as 
decency  will  allow,  and  sometimes  more  so.  We  call 
them,  too,  —  angels,  —  but  they  are  too  heavy  to  fly. 
A  little  dress,  and  a  little  lisping  and  music  and  draw 
ing,  perhaps  a  blue  stocking  filled  full  of  title-pages  and 
technics.  Is  that  unfair  ? 

I  am  disgusted  with  all  prestiges.     The  talk  about 
Some  re-       liberty  is  abhorrent  to  me.     I  believe  there  is 

marks  upon 

liberty.  as  much  of  general  liberty  here  as  elsewhere, 
and  that  our  populace  is  as  enlightened  as  any ;  and  yet  to 
see  how  they  are  yoked,  and  swayed,  and  pulled  along  by 
the  nose,  by  boy  demagogues,  —  really  one  would  almost 
forswear  his  species.  They  make  a  great  parade  of  lib 
erty  at  the  South,  but  it  is  nothing  but  the  liberty  of  driv 
ing  negroes  and  playing  the  fool  with  their  earnings. 
And  what  was  the  liberty  of  Greece  and  Rome?  An 
immense  gang  of  slaves  and  a  few  self-styled  republicans, 


LETTERS    TO    MR.    YVONNET.  99 

who  flattered  each  other  when  they  saw  fit,  and  murdered 
each  other  when  they  had  a  mind  to,  —  rich  men  who 
outbid  each  other  at  the  auction  of  office  and  votes,  which 
had  each  their  petty  price.  I,  like  a  thousand  others,  have 
talked  big  about  these  things,  and  yet  they  are,  after  all, 

vox .     When  a  man  has  got  a  heap  of  dollars  and  a 

great  house  he  has  done  something,  and  yet  the  getting 
is  all  the  good  about  it.  As  for  reading  and  study  it  serves 
to  kill  time,  —  a  hard  task.  Talking  answers  for  news 
papers,  because  we  can  then  measure  existence  by  the  ex 
ertion  of  mental  power.  I  am  very  much  inclined  to 
think  that  one  had  better  be  lashed  through  life  by  a  cat- 
o'-nine-tails  than  be  a  rich  man  at  his  ease. 

I  imagine,  if  you  can  read  this  letter,  you  will  be,  by 
this  time,  heartily  tired  of  it.     I  assure  you,  I  remember 
our  slight  acquaintance  with  no  little  satisfac 
tion.     As  for  my  health,  it  is  not  to  be  spoken 
of.     It  is  a  good  maxim  not  to  speak  evil  of  the  dead. 
Yours  respectfully, 

JAMES   G.  PERCIVAL. 
J.  L.  YVONNET. 

P.  S. — I  have  a  little  leisure,  and  resume  my  bad  pen. 
I  fear  I  shall  have  to  come  under  the  influence  of  sad 
motives,  i.  e.  I  shall  have  to  engage  in  the  business  of 
money-getting.  For  I  will  not  starve ;  I  will  find  a  shorter 
outlet  sooner.  I  wish  I  could  find  a  circle  of  He  longs  for 

,  T          .  ,  ,  congenial 

society  where  I  could  have  some  motives  to  im-  society. 
provement,  but  I  utterly  despair.  Everything  around  me 
now  is  humdrum  or  solitude.  I  cannot  possibly  endure 
this  fruitlessness  of  effort.  I  shall  make  no  more.  They 
have  destined  me  to  a  poetical  immortality ;  but  the  im 
mortality  has  ended,  or  it  will  begin  only  after  I  am 
dead.  They  call  me  retiring.  They  are  determined  I 


100  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  VII. 

shall  be  so.  Well,  I  must  bring  myself  up  to  an  utter 
contempt  of  society,  and  try  to  find  excitement  in  my  own 
consciousness  of  a  better  fate,  and  in  the  society  of  men 
of  undoubted  excellence,  whose  company  can  always  be 
found  in  their  books,  and  that,  too,  without  waiting  for  an 
invitation. 

In  his  reply,  Mr.  Yvonnet  gives  a  pleasant  sketch  of 
his  reputation  in  New  York  :  — 

"I  understand  that  your  little  piece,  entitled  The 
His  reputa-  Carrier  Pigeon,  is  sung  at  the  theatre  by  Mrs. 

tioninNew     ,  .  J 

York.  liolman,  and  received  with  great  applause,  it 

having  been  set  to  music  by  Moran.  I  heard  a  very  fine 
young  fellow  do  ample  justice  to  the  spirit  and  feeling  of 
Retrospection,  the  other  evening.  He  rehearsed  it  in  a 
private  circle  with  all  the  enthusiasm  and  fervor  it  is 
well  calculated  to  excite  ;  and  besides  all,  he  is  himself 
devoted  to  literary  pursuits  and  passionately  fond  of 
poetry.  Some  of  my  friends,  and  especially  those  who 
may  more  properly  be  termed  devotees  to  classical  litera 
ture,  are  your  greatest  friends,  though  they  know  you 
only  through  the  medium  of  your  poems  and  the  conver 
sations  we  have  had  together.  The  question  is  often  put 
to  me,  When  do  you  intend  visiting  New  York  ?  and  sev 
eral  have  told  me  that  if  I  see  you  here,  I  must  not  fail 

to  call  with  you  to  see  them Your  productions 

have,  as  you  have  noticed,  commanded  unprecedented  at 
tention,  and  your  name  is  now  passing  through  the  whole 
Union  with  great  eclat.  Your  effusions  are  looked  upon 
as  truly  American,  and  are  perused  by  all  who  make  any 
pretensions  to  polite  literature." 

He  finds  a  His  chief  rival  at  this  season  was  Irving, 
Irving.  whose  Bracebridge  Hall  divided  the  public 
attention  with  Percival's  Clio  and  Prometheus. 


LETTERS    TO    MR.    YVONNET.  loi 

About  this  time  the  events  of  the  following*  t&ory  -took 
place.  He  formed  an  attachment  to  'a"  youn^ 
lady  in  New  Haven,  the  orphaned  daughter •  o^ £ 
a  sea-captain,  who  had  great  physical  beauty. lady* 
He  carried  books  to  her  and  read  selections.  She  said 
of  him,  "  I  do  wish  Mr.  Percival  would  n't  bring  these 
books  to  read.  I  don't  like  books,  and  don't  want  to 
read  them."  A  friend  told  this  to  Percival,  who  then 
discontinued  his  visits.  Not  long  after  the  young  lady 
married  a  shoemaker  and  went  to  reside  somewhere  on 
the  Hudson.  It  was  of  her  that  he  wrote  the  poem  be 
ginning, 

"  She  has  no  heart,  but  she  is  fair." 

The  third  stanza  conveys  a  fact  very  delicately  and  plain 
tively  and  bitterly :  — 

"  She  has  no  heart,  she  cannot  love, 

But  she  can  kindle  love  in  mine,  — 
Strange  that  the  softness  of  a  dove 
Round  such  a  thing  of  air  can  twine." 

A  certain  family,  whose  son  had  become  pleasantly 
acquainted  with  Percival  at  New  Haven,  invited  him, 
during  this  summer,  to  visit  them  in  their  beautiful  coun 
try  home  in  a   Connecticut  village.     They  thought  he 
was  a  poor  but  worthy  young  man,  and  that  it  would 
be  both  a  great  favor  to  the  poet  to  give  him  a  summer's 
residence,  and  a  fine  thing  to  have  a  minstrel,  as  in  the 
olden  time,  in  their  family.     Concerning  this  invitation, 
Percival  said  to  a  friend,  indignantly,  "  Thank  He  is  not 
God,  I  am  not  dependent  upon  others  yet."  ™urt  a? 
Their  kindness  was  well  meant,  and  the  son  wealfchy 
was  later  a  true  friend  to  Percival,  but  they  did  not 
understand  the  sensitiveness  of  the  poet.      He  was  al 
ways  particular  about  everything  which  related  to  his 


102  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  VII. 

own  in-lcppe.ndence,  either  in  respect  of  opinions  or  habits 
of  life. 

]fe  Yvorne.t,  in  his  reply  to  PercivaTs  letter,  says : 
"  Write  to  me,  my  dear  sir,  with  the  same  freedom  which 
characterizes  you  first  letter  " ;  and  he  did. 


TO  JAMES  LAWRENCE  YVONNET. 

NEW  HAVEN,  Wendesday,  June  26,  1822. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

I  received  your  letter  of  the  24th  this  morning  ;  and  as 
Letter  to  Mr.  I  am  a  very  poor  correspondent,  I  will  answer 
Yvonnct.  vou  immediately ;  otherwise  I  might  never  do 
it.  I  write  very  small,  because  I  intend  to  put  as  much 
on  my  paper  as  I  can.  If  you  cannot  read  it  in  any  other 
way,  you  must  get  a  microscope.  Not  the  New  Haven 
Microscope  ;  for  although  the  editor  of  that  glorious  af 
fair  calls  himself  my  foster-father  in  the  Muses,  and,  amid 
the  many  insults  which  his  well-meaning  stupidity  hangs 
upon  me,  declares  that,  had  it  not  been  for  his  clearing  the 
way  by  inserting  a  few  articles  of  mine  in  his  great  Miscel 
lany,  I  never  should  have  dared  to  face  the  public,  I  say, 
notwithstanding  this,  I  hope  my  immortality  is  not  tacked 
to  such  perishable  stuff. 

I  am  really  ashamed  to  say  anything  of  myself  since 
He  reels  my  return  here.  I  have  been  left  entirely 
Si  New-ed  alone.  There  seems  to  be,  in  the  better  circles 
of  New  Haven,  —  if  there  are  such,  —  a  marked 
neglect,  a  studied  determination  not  to  know  me.  But 
although  they  cannot  value  me,  they  cannot  destroy  my 
reputation  abroad.  If  I  had  good  health,  I  could  defy 
them,  and  live  proudly  alone ;  but  I  have  suffered  under 
constant  ill-health  since  my  return  from  the  South,  a  great 


LETTERS    TO    MR.    YVONNET.  103 

degree  of  debility  and  depression.  I  imagine  the  Southern 
winter  was  no  friend  to  my  constitution.  I  think  I  shall 
not  try  it  again.  As  it  is,  my  health  first  sinks,  then  my 
spirits  descend  even  to  zero,  and  then  thick-  ms  loneii- 
coming  fancies  and  dreams  of  darkness  gather  ^ntTf  sym- 
around  me,  and  I  soon  find  myself  in  infernal  Pathy* 
company  enough ;  and  I  have  nowhere  to  go  to  drive 
them  away.  (I  have  two  or  three  young  men  acquaint 
ances  in  town,  but  none  congenial.)  I  walk  into  the  coun 
try,  but  my  eye  is  then  jaundiced  to  the  beauties  of  nature. 
I  go  into  town,  and  I  am  in  a  peopled  solitude.  I  return 
home ;  books  are  but  formal  dulness,  and  my  pen  a 
bore.  I  often  wish  I  could  find  a  hole  to  creep  out  at. 
I  begin  to  think  that  I  have  done  all  that  I  can  do  for 
my  reputation,  and  that  my  future  efforts  will  only  im 
pair  it.  I  am  then  ready  to  say  that  I  have  given  tho 
world  my  passport  to  immortality,  and  if  I  have  not  yet 
done  anything  to  keep  alive  my  name,  when  I  am  dead 
and  gone,  I  must  go  to  the  oblivion  of  the  million  with 
out  leaving  even  one  representative  to  bear  my  name  after 
me.  I  have  been  so  long  in  solitude  that  I  am  almost 
afraid  to  emerge  from  it.  I  am  almost  afraid  my  mind 
has  become  so  rusted  that  it  cannot  be  oiled  into  easy 
motion.  I  begin  to  think  there  is  a  difference  He  begins 
between  P.  the  poet  and  P.  the  man,  and  that  the  poet  and 
they  never  can  be  associated  without  injury  to  are'nouhe 
the  former.  I  suppose  the  keen-scented  New- same' 
Haveners  have  caught  something  about  me  which  makes 
them  think  I  am  not  worth  notice.  At  any  rate,  it  is 
rather  unpleasant  and  dangerous  for  me  to  live  in  Naz 
areth,  and  one  of  the  worst  consequences  is,  it  makes 
me  imagine  every  place  will  be  a  Nazareth  when  I  go 
there.  But  I  cannot  live  a  hermit  any  longer.  If  the 


104  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  VII. 

world  is  everywhere  determined  to  keep  me  aloof,  I 
will  no  longer  be  of  this  world,  not  to  spite  them,  but 
to  defend  myself. 

Although  in  my  former  letter  I  shot  a  tirade  against 
His  ac-  women,  I  am  no  misogynist ;  on  the  contrary, 
Seamen,  I  believe  I  have  allowed  my  imagination  to 

another    centre    iQQ    fo^    Qn    them>      j    haye    ^^    ^ 

make  of  them  the  sanctum  sanctorum  of  human 
nature,  the  angels  that  watch  around  us,  and  now  and 
then  open  to  us  visions  of  something  better  than  earth 
can  give  us.  I  recollect  when  I  was  a  mere  child  I  was 
strangely  electrified  by  a  little  black  eye.  After  that,  for 
years,  I  knew  absolutely  nothing  of  them.  I  then  became 
the  teacher  of  a  most  amiable  young  lady  for  two  years, 
and  I  have  only  had  glimpses  of  their  society  since.  I 
have  seen  them,  and,  like  all  distant  objects,  they  have 
seemed  more  beautiful  than  the  reality.  The  indistinct 
ness  with  which  they  have  appeared  to  me  has  left  ample 
room  for  my  imagination  to  work  in,  and  I  have  thrown 
around  them  the  greenest  oases  in  the  desert  we  have  to 
travel  over.  But  when  I  come  nearer,  I  am  constantly 
undeceived.  I  find  the  sheets  of  water  only  flitting  va 
pors,  and  the  verdure  nothing  but  bitter  senna  (vide 
Bruce,  TV.  Brown,  etc.).  I  go  too  far.  Women  have 
still  much  that  is  lovely.  They  are  kept  out  of  the  most 
contaminated  moral  atmosphere.  They  are  left  exposed 
to  excesses'  and  duplicity.  They  are  obliged  to  assume 
(at  least)  a  higher  decorum,  and  there  is  ever  an  advan 
tage  in  mere  assumption.  We  are  apt  to  become  in  re 
ality  what  we  pretend  to  be.  They  have  naturally  a 
greater  delicacy  of  constitution,  greater  nervous  suscep 
tibility  and  tenderness  of  feeling.  As  they  mingle  less 
in  the  bustle  of  life,  their  sensibilities  are  less  exposed  to 


HIS    VIEWS    OF  WOMEN.  105 

be  blunted,  and  their  care  of  infancy  and  childhood  is  a 
constant  school  of  their  affections.  Hence  they  are  not 
as  cold  as  men. 

"With  your  permission,  I  will  proceed  with  this  delicate 
subject.    St.  Pierre  says,  in  his  beautiful  tale  of  He  quotes 

T.  .St.  Pierre  on 

La  Chaumiere  Indienne,  that  the  best  thing  marriage. 
in  the  world  is  a  good  wife.  I  have  heard  different  opin 
ions  from  married  men.  Some  are  not  disposed  to  under 
value  matrimony.  They  indeed  speak  of  it  as  a  homely 
sort  of  happiness  compared  with  the  bright  visions  of 
youth,  but  after  all  much  better  than  single  blessedness. 
I  have  heard  others  sneer  at  it  and  curse  it.  Either  they 
or  their  wives  were  in  the  wrong,  I  believe,  after  all.  St. 
Pierre  was  right,  but  the  wife  must  be  good  and  the  husband 
too.  Now,  to  speak  seriously,  it  is  time  for  me  to  marry, 
if  I  ever  do.  I  am  approaching  the  critical  jjis  ovra 
period  when  the  world  can  call  me  "  old  bach-  views> 
elor."  I  will  make  an  effort  to  keep  that  title  from  me. 
I  have  never  yet  seriously  set  about  it,  and  really  I  should 
make  but  green  work  of  it.  Men  have  different  motives 
for  marrying.  Some  marry  a  fortune,  some  a  housewife, 
some  a  nurse,  others  a  family  interest,  others  an  imagi 
nary  mistress.  For  my  part,  I  will  marry  a  woman  whom 
I  can  love  sincerely,  if  not  enthusiastically,  and  in  whom 
I  can  rationally  bespeak  an  intellectual  companion.  I 
have  been  influenced  by  certain  feelings  on  this  subject 
which  perhaps  are  not  common.  In  nothing  have  I  so 
much  regretted  my  poverty  and  want  of  ener-  Hig  degire 
gctic  occupation  as  in  this,  that  it  prevented  me  to  marry* 
from  giving  an  asylum  to  some  one  who  had  no  other 
claims  upon  me  but  her  merit  and  affection.  I  once  saw 
a  beautiful  girl  who  seemed  to  me  amiable  and  intelligent 
from  her  physiognomy,  but  who  was  in  obvious  risk  of  a 

5* 


106  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [ CHAP.  VII. 

dangerous  perversion.  I  tortured  myself  because  I  could 
not  gain  such  an  influence  over  her  as  to  sway  and  form 
her  mind  and  conduct,  and  because  I  could  not  give  her 
those  external  advantages  which  she  had  a  right  to  de 
mand.  Few  would  suppose  me  actuated  by  such  motives ; 
most  would  imagine  that,  like  all  the  rest,  I  was  only  ac 
tuated  by  feelings  of  selfish  libertinism :  but  the  days 
of  early  youth  are  gone  by,  and  possibly  I  shall  be  com 
pelled  to  live  and  die  single. 

Perhaps  you  will  think  I  am  snivelling.  If  so,  I 
stand  reproved,  and  as  Gibbie  Girder  says,  What  more 
His  poetical  can  a  man  ^°  than  stand  reproved  ?  As  for  my 
does  not°n  poetical  reputation,  I  am  not  now  in  the  way  of 
bring  money.  profiting  ty  it.  I  have  only  the  internal  sense 
of  self-satisfaction  to  reward  me ;  for  it  gives  me  no  in 
troduction  to  any  society  that  is  better  than  an  old  college 
acquaintance.  I  imagine  I  have  conversational  powers. 
I  know  I  can  enjoy  congenial  society  highly ;  and  some  of 
my  efforts  have  been  made  under  the  influence  of  such 
excitement.  It  is  not  wonderful  that  I  should  be  restless 
and  unhappy  in  solitude.  I  am  as  little  made  for  utter 
solitude  as  Poor  Rousseau  in  the  Hermitage,  but  I  am  con 
demned  to  it  here ;  there  is  no  escape  ;  and  if  I  do  not 
in  some  of  my  fits  of  blue  devils  hang  myself,  I  shall 
come  off  well.  I  believe  I  have  become  utterly  insen 
sible  to  the  reputation  I  have  attained  abroad.  My  spirits 
The  vanity  are  as  vaP^  as  an  hour-old  glass  of  soda-water, 
of  glory.  j  gj^j}  never  wrjte  anything  more,  unless  I  can 
find  some  new  excitement,  or  health  sufficiently  buoyant 
to  be  an  excitement  unto  myself.  As  I  am  now,  I  am 
plunged  into  double-distilled  fogs  of  Boeotia.  I  wrote  by 
particular  request,  the  other  morning  before  breakfast, 
two  short  hymns  on  the  death  of  Fisher.  I  do  not  rest 


DISAPPOINTED    IN    HIS    SUCCESS.          107 

my  reputation  on  them  at  all.  At  best,  they,  are  decent. 
They  are  all  I  have  written  this  two  months,  and  I  have 
no  inclination  now  to  write  another  line,  prose  or  measure. 
I  cannot  devise  an  aim  for  writing.  If  I  am  serious  and 
wish  to  reform  and  improve  my  fellow-men,  they  will 
never  heed  it.  The  world  will  go  on  just  as  if  I  had 
never  lived  and  written.  If  I  seek  literary  fame  and 
gain  it,  it  is  mere  sound  after  all.  I  have  gained  some 
reputation.  I  have  seen  my  name  circulating  widely  in 
my  native  land,  but  at  home  I  am  just  nothing.  I  do  not 
see  that  my  situation  is  at  all  improved  by  it ;  and,  what 
is  worse,  I  have  no  prospect,  unless  I  change  my  resi 
dence,  and  then  I  run  after  uncertainties.  I  think  it 
hardly  safe  for  the  flesh  and  blood  of  an  author  to  ac 
company  his  works. 

No  man  is  a  hero,  they  might  say  every  man  is  a 
fool,  to  his  valet  de  ckambre.  You  may  perhaps  think  me 
a  spiritless  fellow.  I  have  not  spirits  enough  to  act  with 
out  motive.  I  have  neither  health  nor  external  excite 
ment,  and  who  can  act  without  these  ?  What  would  you 
think,  if  you  had  only  the  society  of  a  few  indolent  dys 
peptic  tutors,  a  young  lawyer  without  ambition,  His  society 
and  the  illiterate  mistress  of  a  boarding-house  ?  feelings. 
Would  the  distant  and  dying  murmurs  of  newspaper  ap 
plause  and  the  remembrance  of  a  few  flattering  atten 
tions  a  thousand  miles  off  lift  you  against  the  depres 
sion  of  ill-health  and  solitude,  and  give  brightness  to  the 
prospect  of  lowliness,  obscurity,  and  poverty  ?  Abso 
lutely,  I  shall  die  unless  I  leave  New  Haven.  I  will  go 
somewhere,  where  I  can  be  daily  stirred  into  activity,  or 
I  will  sell  off  all  my  books  and  travel  for  my  life.  I 
once  travelled  on  foot  to  Niagara  and  returned.  I  have 
some  inclination  to  follow  the  example  of  Walking  Stew- 


Io8  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  VH. 

art,  and  see  how  far  my  feet  can  carry  me.  But  enough 
of  this. 

You  have  discussed  the  question  whether  religion  for 
bids  the  love  of  glory.  This  depends  on  what  we  call 
He  discusses  glory.  If  we  mean  by  it  courage  enough  to 
glory.  fight  a  duel,  or  the  fame  and  splendor  of  a  con 

queror  or  tyrant,  not  only  religion,  but  common  sense,  for 
bids  it.  But  if  we  mean  by  it  the  highest  cultivation  and 
the  brightest  efforts  of  our  intellectual  powers,  the  ener 
getic,  the  generous  and  disinterested  exertion  of  our  facul 
ties  in  elevating  the  human  character  and  giving  a  new 
elegance  and  polish  and  dignity  and  firmness  to  society, 
the  strong,  unwearied  endeavor  to  stem  the  torrent  of 
corruption  in  every  shape,  then  I  say,  cursed  be  the  re 
ligion  that  denounces  the  love  of  glory.  My  God !  when 
He  longs  for  I  think  of  this,  I  cannot  but  kindle.  Would 
society.  that  I  could  find  a  society  that  could  partake  in 
all  the  emotions  that  I  sometimes  feel,  could  at  once  set 
down  their  foot  on  everything  low  and  trifling,  could 
throw  around  those  bright  visions  of  glory  that  appeared 
so  dazzling  to  the  great  souls  of  antiquity,  could  unite 
their  efforts  in  some  grand  aim  of  improvement,  and, 
forgetting  all  private  advantage,  could  spurn  as  base, 
everything  that  had  not  for  its  object  their  own  essential 
exaltation  and  the  general  purification  of  the  moral  at 
mosphere!  But  I  cannot  sustain  it  myself,  and  I  find 
none  who  have  any  notion  of  it.  Give  me  a  little  more 
salary,  a  few  more  subscribers,  a  little  more  custom,  a 
good  dinner,  a  soft  bed,  a  stylish  coat,  a  little  silly 
chit-chat  with  the  ladies,  —  and  all  is  well.  I  have  heard 
les  religieux  a  Calvin  boast  of  the  Christian  precept  of 
humility.  Humility,  with  proper  qualifications,  is  very 
well.  But  the  only  safe  spring  of  action  is  a  just  sense 


DISAPPOINTED    IN    HIS    SUCCESS.          109 

of  personal  dignity.  Well-tempered  pride  is  the  best 
feeling  of  our  nature.  It  is  as  far  from  vanity  The  differ- 
as  the  antipodes.  The  one  concentrates  our  t™e pf?<TeCen 
powers  and  collects  us  in  our  own  strength  like  a  and  vauity- 
colossus.  The  other  dissipates  itself  in  catching  the  gaze 
of  others,  and  throws  out  its  seducing  tricks  like  the 
flimsy  threads  of  the  venomous  spiders.  A  truly  proud 
man  never  will  be  mean.  A  vain  man  is  essentially 
mean.  A  proud  man  moves  through  life  erect  in  his 
own  worth.  He  is  like  a  stately  ship,  lifting  its  broad 
sails  before  a  fair  wind,  and  steadily  ploughing  its  way 
to  its  destined  haven,  or  stemming  unwrecked  and  un 
broken  the  adverse  tempest.  The  vain  man  creeps  and 
flutters, — now  a  caterpillar  in  the  dirt,  and  then  a  painted 
moth  humming  around  the  light  to  show  off  his  own  pretti- 
ness,  burning  himself  in  a  flame  too  intense  for  his  puny 
being,  and  finally  dying  in  the  stench  of  his  own  worthless- 
ness.  A  truce  to  this  rhodomontade !  I  am  writing  a 
letter,  and  letters  should  never  be  on  stilts.  I  will  wind 
up  when  I  have  told  you  that  this  afternoon  they  render 
all  due  honor  to  the  memory  of  Professor  Fisher,  and 
that  I  shall  ever  be  happy  to  receive  your  communica 
tions. 

Your  sincere  friend  and  obedient  servant, 

J.   G.  PERCIVAL. 

The  moody  despondency  which   runs    through  these 
letters  weighed  heavily  upon  him. 

Dr.  Underwood,  another  of  his  correspondents,  writes 
under   date    Philadelphia,   August    16,    1822  :  Extract  from 
"  I  am  sorry  to  find  in  your  last  letter  the  same  £oo<T3der~ 
sombre  complexion  pervading  all  your  anticipa- letter* 
tions.     If  you  will  have  no  confidence  in  yourself,  how 


no 


JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.          [CHAP.  VII. 


can  you  expect  others  to  repose  it  in  you  ?  I  think  you 
do  injustice  to  your  friends,  who,  I  doubt  not,  would 
forward  your  views  to  the  extent  of  their  abilities." 
In  the  same  letter  he  made  allusion  to  Percival's  in 
tention  of  visiting  Europe,  —  a  part  of  the  world  he 
was  destined  never  to  see. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


1822. 


PUBLISHES  CLIO  No.  II.  —  REVIEWED  BY  DR.  OILMAN.  —  WRITES 
PROMETHEUS,  PART  II. —  CRITICISMS  UPON  IT.  —  RECOLLECTIONS 
BY  PROFESSOR  FOWLER.  —  His  PHI  BETA  KAPPA  ORATION. 


NE  of  his  first  labors,  when  he  got  settled, 
was  the  preparation  for  the  second  number 
of  Clio.     The  materials  had  now  accumulated 
upon  his   hands,  —  his  contributions   to    the 
Courier  and  the  poems  written  on  the  voyage  He  publishes 
home,  —  so  that  the  "  periodical  poet "  could  numbe^S 
venture  again  before  the  public.     This  he  did  Cll°' 
in  August,  1822,  with  the  second  number  of  Clio.     The 
title-page  bore  a  motto  from  Boileau  :  — 

"  Qui  ne  salt  se  borner,  ne  sut  jamais  ecrire." 

It  was  published  by  his  friend,  Mr.  S.  Converse  of 
New  Haven,  and  contained  132  pages.  Save  the  Preface, 
which  is  mainly  an  essay  upon  the  nature  and  uses  of 
poetry,  it  was  made  up  of  poetry  alone.  These  were  his 
views  upon  the  publication  of  this  slender  volume  :  — 

"  When  I  gave  the  first  number  of  Clio  to  the  public, 
I  did  not  pledge  myself  to  issue  a  second,  but  Extract  from 
I  have  allowed  a  sufficient  quantity  of  passing  his  Preface- 
effusions  to  accumulate  upon  me  to  induce  me  to  publish 
this  second  and  positively  last  number.  I  do  not  feel  my 
self  called  upon  to  detail  my  reasons  for  abandoning  this 


112  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  VIII. 

undertaking.  It  is  not  worth  while  to  answer  before 
questioned.  Others  may  not  feel  such  an  interest  in  the 
continuance  of  this  work  as  to  demand  the  causes  of  its 
termination,  and  I  really  do  not  wish  to  draw  out  my  own 
private  feelings  from  the  retirement  of  my  bosom.  Hence 
forth  no  collection  of  fugitive  pieces  shall  appear  under 
my  name.  If  it  is  again  obtruded  on  the  public,  it  shall 
be  in  a  work  of  a  regular,  extended,  and  matured  plan. 
"  In  the  former  Preface  I  offered  a  few  observations  on 

His  further  the  nature  and  uses  of  poetry.  I  shall  now  con- 
views  of 

poetry.  tmue  them,  not  as  specimens  of  critical  disquisi 
tions,  but  as  simple  expressions  of  my  own  views  and 
feelings.  There  has  lately  been  an  interesting  contro 
versy  on  this  subject;  and  even  now,  the  lovers  of  poetry 
and  pretenders  to  taste  are  arranged  under  different 
standards.  Some  dwell  on  the  rich  fancy,  the  deep  feel 
ing,  the  strong  passion,  and  the  vivid  imagery  of  the  early 
school  of  the  days  of  Elizabeth.  They  readily  pardon 
their  negligence  and  occasional  coarseness,  their  contempt 
of  all  the  rules  of  rhetoric,  and  the  improbabilities  of  their 
fictions,  for  the  deep  and  rich  vein  that  shines  through 
them.  Others  take  Pope  and  Campbell  for  their  stand 
ards.  The  smoothness  of  their  versification,  the  perfect 
correctness  and  propriety  of  their  language,  the  fastidi 
ousness  of  their  taste,  and  their  regular  chime  of  thought 
and  measure,  constitute  with  this  class  of  amateurs  the 
ne  plus  ultra  of  poetic  excellence.  Of  these  two  classes, 
I  confess  myself  most  attached  to  the  former." 

This  number  contained  the  best  poetry  he  had  yet 
Character  written.  It  was  the  most  cheerful  and  sunny, 
ume.  It  reflected  the  geniality  of  his  Southern  home 

and  his  Southern  friends.  Its  circulation,  however,  was 
limited.  Dr.  Samuel  Oilman  said  at  the  time  that  it 


REVIEWED    BY    DR.    OILMAN.  113 

"  contains  some  of  the  best  poetry  that  has  yet  been  sung 
by  *  degenerate  Americans/  "  He  was  one  who  could 
truly  appreciate  Percival,  and  his  review  of  the  two 
numbers  of  Clio  in  the  North  American  for  January, 
1823,  betrays  a  friendly  yet  critical  hand,  as  a  few  ex 
tracts  will  show  :  — 

"  The  most  formidable  obstacle  to  Mr.  Percival's  gen 
eral  popularity  is  the  same,  we  apprehend,  Extracts 
which  prevents  the  multiplication  of  editions  oSmiSs 
of  Southey  and  Wordsworth  ;  we  mean,  a  dis-  review- 
inclination  in  those  authors  to  consult  the  precise  intel 
lectual  tone  and  spirit  of  the  average  mass  to  whom  their 
works  are  presented.  Theirs  is  the  poetry  of  soliloquy. 
They  write  apart  from  and  above  the  world.  Their 
original  object  seems  to  be  the  employment  of  their 
faculties  and  the  gratification  of  their  poetical  propen 
sities  ;  after  which  the  world  is  indulged  with  the  favor 
of  listening  to  the  strains  that  have  charmed  and  soothed 
their  own  solitude.  A  few  congenial  souls,  indeed,  will 
always  be  found  to  sympathize  with  such  effusions,  and 
none  may  be  inclined  to  question  the  genius  from  which 
they  proceed  ;  and  sometimes,  as  is  frequently  the  case 
with  the  present  author,  the  inclinations  of  the  poet  him 
self  may  coincide  with  the  general  taste  by  a  happy 
chance,  and  thus  produce  compositions  which  deserve 
immediate,  extensive,  and  permanent  popularity 

"  There  certainly  reigns  in  many  parts  of  it  [his 
poetry]  the  true  ethereal  spirit.  The  vein  is  The  spirifc  of 
often  as  fine  as  any  we  have  ever  known.  The  his  P°etry- 
pieces  are  not  few  in  which  the  soul  of  the  author, 
rising  as  he  proceeds,  involves  itself  and  the  reader  in 
a  cloud  of  delicious  enchantment.  He  possesses  the  rare 
and  divine  art  of  imparting  to  language  those  mysterious 


114  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  VIII. 

and  unearthly  influences  which  come  to  us  from  the 
strings  of  an  JEolian  harp.  Without  employing  our 
senses  as  instruments,  he  can  yet  diffuse  through  our 
feelings  something  like  the  result  of  all  the  sweetest 
sensations.  Other  authors  may  obtain  admiration  and 
fame  from  the  excellence  and  beauty  of  separate  ideas 
and  sentiments,  and  the  skill  with  which  they  arrange 
them.  These  gifts  are  enough  to  make  the  fine  writer  ; 
they  may  produce  the  deepest  immediate  impressions. 
But  to  these  Mr.  Percival  adds  the  power  of  exciting 
in  the  mind  a  pervading  and  continuing  charm  ;  an  ag 
gregate  effect,  separate  from  the  original  one,  analogous 
to  a  secondary  rainbow.  As  you  wander  through  the 
garden  of  his  poetry,  you  enjoy  something  more  than  the 
pleasure  of  gazing  on  individual  specimens,  or  inhaling 
their  successive  sweets,  or  surveying  gay  beds  and  fairly 
ordered  pastures  ;  for  the  air  itself  is  occupied  with  a 
spirit  of  mingled  fragrance.  As  mere  music  often  speaks 
a  sort  of  language,  so  our  author's  language  breathes  a 
sort  of  music.  We  are  convinced  that  it  is  true  poetry, 
since  in  reading  it  we  have  had  exactly  the  same  feeling 
as  in  surveying  admired  subjects  in  the  sister  arts  of 
painting  and  statuary. 

"  To  descend,  however,  to  praises  a  little  more  particu- 
Hiscom-       lar  and  discriminating,  the  author's  wide  com- 

HUllltl  Of 

language,  mand  of  the  English  language  deserves  honor 
able  notice.  His  rhymes  are  unhackneyed,  yet  always 
very  natural.  He  has  scarcely  a  trick  of  the  mere 
versifier.  We  meet  with  few  inversions  of  the  common 
order  of  syntax.  He  has  drunk  deeply  of  the  best  un- 
defiled  springs. 

"  We  are  next  pleased  with  his  intimate  familiarity  with 
classical  literature.    It  is  evidently  of  a  kind  not  borrowed 


REVIEWED    BY    DR.    OILMAN.  115 

from  Lempriere.     It  generally  appears  in  incidental  allu 
sions,  which  are  rather  forced  upon  him  from  a  His  famii- 
well-stored  memory  than  sought  after  for  the  cSicaith 
purpose  of  display.     It  is  doubly  refreshing  to  llt 
meet  with  this  property  in  our  author,  both  as  it  fur 
nishes  a  proof  that  the  race  of  ripe  classical  scholars  is 
flourishing  among  us,  and  also  that  the  stock  of  classical 
images  and  ornaments  is  far  from  being  exhausted.     We 
are  persuaded,  moreover,  that  Mr.  Percival  has  caught 
from  the  study  of  Greek  models  a  certain  Attic  purity 
and  severity  of  style,  conspicuous  in  some  of  his  best 
wrought  pieces. 

"  Besides  this  quality,  we  also  observe,  in  every  part 
of  these  volumes,  proofs  of  very  extensive  and  His  extensive 
profound  general  knowledge.  There  is  almost  knowled&e- 
an  encyclopedic  familiarity  with  subjects  in  many  depart 
ments  of  modern  science.  It  is  this  ample  store  of  images 
and  illustrations,  joined  with  his  happy  art  of  introducing 
them,  which  gives  us  confidence  in  the  ultimate  splendid 

success  of  Mr.  Percival's  authorship We  regard 

his  powers  and  resources  as  inexhaustible;  and  if  his 
spirit  shall  be  elastic  enough  to  try  them  all  successively, 
condescending  at  the  same  time  to  feel  and  be  guided  by 
the  pulse  of  public  taste,  (we  do  not  mean  merely  the 
public  of  to-day,)  he  will  acquire  for  the  literature  of  his 
country  an  enviable  renown. 

"  Another  peculiarity  in  these  pages  which  strikes  us 
agreeably  is  the  felicitous  art  of  weaving:  into  He  makes 

the  names  of 

the  texture  of  a  composition  the  names  of  com-  common 
mon  and  vulgar  objects,  which  a  poet  of  ordi-  poetical, 
nary  powers  would  despair  of  introducing  with  success. 
Mr.  Percival  overcomes  in  a  moment  the  repulsive  or  un- 
poetical  associations  attached  to  such  words,  and  invests 
them  with  an  unwonted  dignity  and  purity." 


Il6  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  VIII. 

Soon  after  this  he  was  engaged  on  the  second  part  of 
His  PM  Beta  Prometheus  as  a  Phi  Beta  Kappa  poem  ;  but 

Kappa  ora- 

tion.  becoming  discouraged,  at  his  own  request  the 

appointment  was  changed  to  an  oration,  which  he  delivered 
before  the  society  September  10,  1822.  His  subject  was 
"  On  some  of  the  Moral  and  Political  Truths  derivable 
from  the  Study  of  History."*  When  he  had  written 
it,  he  came  to  read  it  to  Dr.  Ives,  who  had  previously 
He  is  prac-  cautioned  Percival  against  reading  too  fast,  and 

Using  elocu 
tion,  without  articulating  his  words,  as  was  his  cus 
tom.  He  began  his  oration,  but  was  soon  reading  so  fast 
that  the  Doctor  could  not  understand  him.  He  told  him 
so,  and  asked  him  to  begin  again,  which  he  did ;  but  in  a 
minute  he  was  running  sentences  into  each  other  again, 
after  the  old  habit.  The  Doctor  then  corrected  him,  but 
he  became  angry  and  left  the  house.  In  delivering  the 
oration,  he  proceeded  only  part  way  and  then  stopped. 
It  was  a  sketch  of  the  causes  which  led  to  the  downfall 
of  ancient  Rome,  and  a  just  and  discriminating  examina 
tion  of  the  dangers  to  be  apprehended  by  us  from  some 
what  similar  causes.  Percival,  like  Irving,  had  no  apt 
ness  for  the  display  of  popular  eloquence. 

The  second  part  of  Prometheus  was  published  by  A. 
He  publishes  H.  Maltby,  at  New  Haven,  in  November,  1822. 
Part  EL  l ''  It  had  been  begun  already,  but  was  chiefly  writ 
ten  immediately  before  publication.  It  made  a  neat  little 
brochure  of  108  pages,  18mo;  and  the  edition  consisted 
of  one  thousand  copies.  They  sold  well,  and  there  was 
increased  demand  for  Part  First.  In  the  Preface  he 
modestly  says  :  "  It  was  written  hastily  in  a  very  few 
days.  This  is  no  apology,  if  it  is  bad  ;  if  it  is  good,  it 
needs  none."  This  now  completed  his  longest  and  most 
elaborate  poetical  work. 

*  Appendix  B. 


-aRJ       WRITES    PROMETHEUS,    PART    II.  117 

It  was  of  this  poem  that  the  poet  Whittier  wrote  so 
appreciatively  in  1830,  in  the  New  England  The  poet^ 
Weekly  Review,  of  which   he  was   then   the  opinion  of  it. 
editor  :  — 

"  God  pity  the  man  who  does  not  love  the  poetry  of 
Percival !  He  is  a  genius  of  Nature's  making,  —  that 
singular  and  high-minded  poet.  He  has  written  much 
that  will  live  while  the  pure  and  beautiful  and  glorious, 
in  poetry  and  romance,  are  cherished  among  us.  His 
aim  has  always  been  lofty,  —  up,  up,  into  a  clearer  sky 
and  a  holier  sunshine  ;  and  if  he  has  failed  at  all,  he 
has  failed  in  warring  with  the  thunder-cloud,  and  crossing 
the  path  of  the  live  lightning.  His  Prometheus  is  a 
noble  poem.  There  is  no  affectedness  about  it,  —  all  is 
grand  and  darkly  majestic.  It  has  few  soft  and  delicate 
passages,  —  no  tinge  of  the  common  love-poetry  of  the 
day,  —  no  breathings  of  vows  to  *  rose-lipped  angels  in 
petticoats,'  —  no  dalliance  with  a  '  lady's  curls.'  He  left 
such  things  to  the  dandies  in  literature,  —  to  our  love 
sick  and  moon-struck  race  of  rhymers,  —  and  went  forth 
in  the  dignity  and  power  of  a  man,  to  grapple  with  the 
dark  thoughts  which  thronged  before  him,  moulding  them 
into  visible  and  tangible  realities. 

"  The  apostrophe  to  the  sun,  in  this  poem,  we  have 
ever  looked  upon  as  the  most  magnificent  specimen  of 
American  poetry  within  our  knowledge.  The  following 
stanza  is  of  unrivalled  excellence  :  — 

Thine  are  the  mountains,  where  they  purely  lift 

Snows  that  have  never  wasted,  in  a  sky 

Which  hath  no  stain ;  below  the  storm  may  drift 

Its  darkness,  and  the  thunder-gust  roar  by, 

Aloft  in  thy  eternal  smile  they  lie 

Dazzling  but  cold;  thy  farewell  glance  looks  there, 

And  when  below  thy  hues  of  beauty  die, 


Ii8  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  VIII. 

Girt  round  them  as  a  rosy  belt,  they  bear 

Into  the  high,  dark  vault  a  brow  that  still  is  fair.' 

"  The  American  Monthly  Magazine,  in  a  fine  notice  of 
Percival,  hints  that  he  is  forgotten  by  the  public.  It  is 
not  so.  In  every  village  of  our  country,  where  the  light 
of  literature  has  penetrated,  the  name  of  Percival  is 
familiar,  and  the  beautiful  language  of  his  poetry  is 
breathed  from  the  soft,  rich  voice  of  woman,  and  upon 
the  bearded  lip  of  manhood." 

A  writer  in  the  second  volume  of  the  New  England 
Magazine  for  1832  was  less  pleased.  He  says  :  — 

"  Here  is  the  raw  material,  if  we  may  so  say,  of  a  fine 
Another  poem,  —  abundance  of  images,  no  lack  of  ideas, 
opinion.  a  C0pjous  poetical  vocabulary,  and  single  stanzas 
of  great  splendor  and  beauty ;  but  it  is  wrought  up  in 
defiance,  it  would  almost  seem,  of  the  natural  laws  of 
association  and  the  common  rules  of  composition.  It  is 
deficient  in  that  crowning  merit  of  interest,  without  which 
all  others  are  as  nothing.  It  requires  a  vigorous  moral 
effort  to  read  it.  Earth,  air,  and  sea,  the  past  and  the 
present,  the  world  of  sense  and  the  world  of  thought,  are 
ransacked  for  images  which  have  no  relation  to  each  other 
but  that  of  juxtaposition.  It  reminds  us  of  a  beautiful 
landscape  covered  over  with  a  thick  fog.  We  wait  im 
patiently  for  the  veil  to  roll  away,  and  strain  our  eyes  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  fields,  the  woods,  the  habitations 
of  men,  the  glittering  spires  of  churches,  —  but  in  vain  ; 
we  cannot  get  even  a  frame  to  hold  the  picture  which 
our  own  imagination  would  create.  Another  of  his  long 
poems,  the  Wreck,  is  much  better.  Here  is  a  story,  as 
slight  and  simple  as  anything  can  well  be,  but  still  a 

connected  narrative But  neither  of  them  are  to 

be  compared  with  some  of  his  fugitive  pieces.  We  ven- 


CRITICISMS    UPON    IT.  119 

ture  to  say  that  there  are  as  many  people  that  know  by 
heart  his  Consumption  and  Coral  Grove  as  have  read 
through  either  of  the  others." 

Another  portion  of  the  same  review  is  more  kind  :  — 
"  There  has  always  been  a  charm  to  us  in  Mr.  Perci- 
val's  poetry,  from  its  appearing  to  be  so  much  A  kin(jer 
the  natural  expression  of  his  thoughts.  His  cr 
mind  seems  to  exhale  poetry  as  flowers  do  their  fra 
grance.  He  puts  his  soul  into  every  line.  He  seems 
to  love  and  venerate  his  noble  art,  and  prefers  the  very 
sorrows  that  it  creates  to  pleasures  derived  from  any  other 
source.  He  does  not  write  poetry  to  gain  wealth,  to  at 
tract  attention,  or  to  escape  from  the  tyranny  of  unhappy 
thoughts,  but  because  he  is  a  poet  and  cannot  help  it. 
Hence,  notwithstanding  the  variety  of  his  productions, 
they  are  all  imbued  with  the  same  spirit.  There  is  no 
wit,  no  humor,  no  satire,  no  stern,  Crabbe-like  observation 
of  men  and  things.  The  beauty-giving  light  of  poetry 
hangs  over  everything.  Many  of  his  best  poems  are 
those  upon  Greece,  either  suggested  by  recollections  of 
her  glory  when  she  was  in  her  '  palmy  state,'  when  her 
heroes  were  as  numerous  as  her  men  and  her  history 
was  poetry  put  into  action,  or  inspired  by  the  enthusiasm 
awakened  by  her  recent  struggles.  It  is  not  enough 
to  say  of  these  productions  that  they  glow  with  the 
fire  of  Pindar  and  JEschylus  ;  they  show  the  author's 
heart-felt  admiration  of  what  he  commemorates,  and  his 
deep  sympathy  with  oppressed  men  struggling  to  be 
free." 

I  am  indebted  for  the  following  recollections,  giving 
some  graphic  sketches  of  Percival  through  Recollections 
several  years,  to  Professor  William  C.  Fowler,  w.c.  Fowler. 
his  life-long  friend,  and  one  who,  at  this  time,  with  liter- 


120  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  VIII. 

ary  tastes  and  sympathies  congenial  with  his  own,  was  of 
peculiar  service  to  him. 

TO  THE  EDITOR. 

DURHAM,  CONN.,  January  15, 1865. 

MY  DEAR  SIR, — 

I  cannot  with  propriety  refuse  your  request,  that  I 
would  furnish  you  with  some  reminiscences  of  my  old 
friend,  James  Gates  Percival.  Friendship  has  its  duties 
which  on  this  occasion  I  will  cheerfully  endeavor  to  per 
form. 

In  the  year  1858  I  was  urged  by  Dr.  Erasmus  North 
Reference  to  to  write  a  biographical  sketch  of  him  to  be  pre- 
SteSdh'3  fixed  to  a  forthcoming  edition  of  his  works, 
memoir.  rphjg  e(j£tjon>  wnjcn  tne  Doctor  had  commenced, 

he  also  requested  me  to  complete  and  superintend  while 
in  the  press.  From  ill-health  he  felt  unable  to  perform 
what  he  wished  to  do  for  his  friend  and  mine.  In  an 
interview  and  in  my  correspondence  with  him  I  encour 
aged  him  to  go  on  with  his  work,  already  begun,  instead 
of  transferring  it  to  me.  He  died  not  long  after,  not 
having  completed  what  he  had  generously  attempted. 
If  there  was  any  lack  of  service  on  my  part,  on  that 
occasion,  there  must  not  be  on  this. 

In  June,  1813,  when  a  Freshman  in  Yale  College,  I 
Percival  in  saw  Percival,  then  a  Sophomore,  for  the  first 
college.  time.  He  was  in  the  College  Chapel,  standing 
up  and  facing  me  in  the  seat  next  forward,  while  Dr. 
Dwight  was  leading  the  devotions  of  the  assembled  stu- 
First  glimpse  dents.  His  classical  features,  his  blonde  com- 
of  Percival.  piexiOI1)  his  large  humid  eyes,  with  dilated 
pupils,  the  tear  starting  and  then  setting  back  into  its 


JEti/fis.]  RECOLLECTIONS  BY  PROF.  FOWLER.    121 

well  in  the  socket,  his  whole  expression  as  of  one  who 
had  no  communion  with  those  around  him,  attracted  my 
notice  and  led  me  to  inquire  his  name  and  character. 
Was  that  sensibility,  were  those  starting  tears,  the  ex 
ternal  manifestation  of  the  workings  of  his  own  mind, 
or  rather  of  the  strong  passive  impression  produced  by 
the  speaker's  grand  and  mu-ical  voice,  with  which  he  in 
toned  his  prayer  ?  Were  those  "  looks  communing  with 
the  skies,  his  rapt  soul  sitting  in  his  eyes,"  or  with 
earth  ? 

He  stood  in  the  first  rank  as  a  scholar.     Grouped  with 
Eccles,  and  Clayton,  and  Marshall,  and  Hooker,  His  position 
and  other  leading  men  of  his  class,  he  stands  in  m 
my  memory,  as  if  on  canvas,  the  prominent  figure.     His 
reputation  extended  from  the  college  to  Berlin,  his  native 
place.     The  wife  of  the  minister  of  a  parish  there,  Mrs. 
Elizabeth  Goodrich,  informed  me  that  Dr.  Dwight  had 
declared  to  herself  or  some  one  that  Berlin   had  sent 
to  Yale  College  a  "  great  genius  in  the  person  of  Per- 
cival." 

Deficiencies  and  peculiarities  of  mind  and  manners  he 
had,  which  threw  him  out  of  harmony  with  the  Not  in  sym- 
masses,  and  which  gave  some  doubt  as  to  his  hfe*fj!£th 
future  usefulness  and  success  in  life.     He  was  mi 
not  in  sympathy  with  his  fellow-students,  nor  were  they 
in  sympathy  with  him.     He  had  his  own  sources  of  in 
spiration,  which  he  sought  in  solitude  and  silence.     The 
electric  current  of  his  genius  was  flowing  upon  his  soul 
as  upon  a  prime  conductor.     Will  that  soul  always  be 
insulated  ?     So  various  were   his  susceptibilities  of  im 
pression  from  the  several  classes  of  objects  in  nature  and 
art  and  science,  and  so  various  were  his  attainments,  that 
one  could  believe  that,  in  his  solitude,  each  of  the  nine 
6 


122  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  VIII. 

bright-eyed  daughters  of  Memory  had  in  turn  looked 
into  his  face  and  breathed  inspiration  into  his  soul.  Will 
he,  like  Numa,  after  communing  with  the  fabled  nymph 
Egeria,  come  forth  to  enlighten  and  bless  mankind  ? 

He  entered  college  in  1810,  but  for  some  reason,  per- 
Better  ap-  haps  because  he  did  not  feel  himself  to  be  in 
MS  new-d  m  harmony  with  his  classmates,  —  some  of  whom 

were  brusk  and  boyish  in  their  conversation 
with  him  and  about  him, — he  left  that  class  and  came 
into  the  succeeding  one.  In  this  he  was  more  highly 
appreciated,  perhaps  because  he  was  better  known.  But 
on  one  occasion  he  gave  offence  to  certain  members  of 
his  class  by  a  satirical  poem,  in  which  they  were  ex 
hibited  under  ludicrous  associations.  It  was  written  at 
the  annual  Thanksgiving,  and  described  some  scenes  in 
the  dining-hall  which  were  common  on  such  occasions. 
The  descriptions  were  too  truthful  to  be  satisfactory  to 
the  actors. 

At  the  junior  exhibition  of  my  class,  I  delivered  an 
ne  is  at-  oration  on  "  Cultivating  a  Talent  for  Poetry." 
Sofessor0  Whether  he  heard  in  that  oration  the  echoes  of 

the  questionings  of  his  own  soul,  or  responses 
to  those  questionings,  he  after  that  always  fixed  upon  me 
an  earnest,  tender  look,  as  he  hurried  past  me  on  the  col 
lege  ground,  but  only  with  the  slightest  recognition  on  his 
part  or  mine.  My  familiar  acquaintance  grew  out  of  an 
A  more  fa-  accidental  interview  with  him  in  1818.  on  his 

mi  liar  ac 
quaintance,  return  from  the  South,  where  he  had  been  em 
ployed  as  a  teacher.  I  was  at  that  time  Preceptor  of  the 
Hopkins  Grammar  School  in  New  Haven.  He  felt  some 
sympathy  with  me  in  my  employment,  and  the  first  part 
of  our  conversation  was  upon  the  science  and  art  and  use 
fulness  of  teaching.  We  then  spent  perhaps  an  hour  in 


RECOLLECTIONS  BY  PROF.  FOWLER.      123 

talking  upon  the  poet  Burns,  upon  his  genius  and  his 
follies,  narrating  anecdotes  concerning  him,  and  repeating 
his  poetry.  I  remember  well  with  what  pathos  he  recited 
"A  Bard's  Epitaph,"  which  he  evidently  applied  sub 
jectively,  especially  the  stanza, 

"  Is  there  a  man  whose  judgment  clear 
Can  others  teach  the  course  to  steer, 
But  runs  himself  life's  mad  career 
Wild  as  the  wave  ? 

Approach,  and  through  the  starting  teai 
Survey  this  grave." 

After  this  interview,  he  was  at  my  room  frequently,  al 
ways  ready  to  converse  freely  and  unreservedly  upon  the 
true,  the  good,  and  the  beautiful,  ready  to  expatiate  with 
the  great  naturalist,  Linnasus,  over  the  wide  earth,  or  to 
ascend  with  Newton  to  the  visible  heavens,  or  to  soar 
with  Plato  to  the  empyreal  sphere  "to  the  first  good, 
first  perfect,  and  first  fair." 

I  was  at  that  time  boarding  in  College  Street,  at  Mrs. 
Johnson's,  in  company  with  Mr.  Ingersoll,  who  with  me 
was  studying  theology,  and  with  Mr.  Webb,  who,  with 
another  boarder,  was  studying  medicine.     Percival,  who 
had  entered  the  Medical  School,  proposed  to  me  to  take 
a  seat  at  the  same  table.     He  was  cordially  welcomed  to 
our  mess.     For  two  or  three  weeks  after  he  joined  us 
he  was  uniformly  taciturn,  taking  no  part  in  the  The  shy 
conversation,  which  was  frequently  addressed  to  Kmes 
him  to  draw  him  out.     But  one  day  at  dinner,  talkative- 
Mr.  Ingersoll  made  some  remark  upon  a  characteristic 
feature  of  the  Red  Sea  and  the  adjacent  region.     Per 
cival  immediately  took  up  the  subject  in  its  relation  to 
geology,  climate,  wars,  political  changes,  language,  litera 
ture,  and  religion,  and  treated  it  with  an  exactness  of 


124  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  VIII. 

statement,  an  affluence  of  illustration,  and  a  felicity  of 
language  that  enchained  our  attention,  as  he  fluently 
poured  out,  for  perhaps  half  an  hour,  sentence  after 
sentence.  When  Mr.  Ingersoll  courteously  invited  him 
to  continue  the  conversation  after  we  should  have  re 
turned  thanks,  he  shrank  forthwith  into  himself  and 
never  could  be  drawn  out  again. 

In  1820,  Mr.  Cornelius  Tuthill,  with  the  aid  of  two 
He  becomes  other  friends  of  mine,  Mr.  Henry  E.  Dwight  and 
toTeaK  Mr-  Nathaniel  Chauncey,  conducted  a  literary 
scope.  semi- weekly  paper  entitled  "  The  Microscope." 
On  my  suggesting  to  Mr.  Tuthill  that  Percival  might  be 
persuaded  to  offer  some  poetical  contributions,  he  requested 
me  to  make  application  for  that  purpose.  On  my  apply 
ing  to  him,  he  answered  me  that  he  had  never  published 
a  line  of  poetry,  that  he  felt  some  diffidence  with  respect 
to  his  poetical  powers,  though  he  confessed  to  some  curi 
osity  to  see  himself  in  print.  In  short,  he  was  as  modest 
and  as  coy  as  a  young  maiden.  He  finally  yielded  to  my 
wishes  on  two  conditions,  namely,  that  I  should  examine, 
previous  to  their  insertion,  all  his  productions  for  the  pur 
pose  of  correction,  and  that  their  authorship  should  be 
kept  a  profound  secret,  until  he  should  be  willing  to  have 
it  disclosed.  When  he  brought  me  his  first  poem,  com 
mencing, 

"  His  glance  was  fixed  on  power  alone," 

he  still  shrank  from  exposing  it  to  the  public  eye,  but 
was  persuaded  to  commit  it  to  me  for  publication.  The 
reception  of  this  and  other  poems  of  his  in  that  periodical 
so  well  satisfied  him,  that,  upon  advice  and  encouragement, 
he  proceeded  to  prepare  a  volume  of  poetry  for  publication. 
While  thus  engaged,  he  was  almost  every  day  at  my 
room  in  the  college,  where  I  was  a  tutor,  to  show  me 


]     RECOLLECTIONS  BY  PROF.  FOWLER.      125 

what   he   had  written  or   revised   the  day  or   morning 
before,  always  ready  to  accept  a  criticism  on  He  brings  his 

,     .        .  .      P"ctry  to  Mr. 

the  language  and  rhythm,  and  prompt  at  mak-  Fowler. 
ing  the  correction  suggested ;  but  almost  always  reluc 
tant  to  change  the  sentiment,  especially  if  it  was  of  a 
religious  or  moral  character. 

"  I  ask  no  pity,  nor  will  I  incline 
Weakly  before  the  cross,  nor  in  the  blood 
Of  others  wash  away  my  crimes." 

To  this  infidel  resolution  in  Prometheus  I  objected, 
that  if  he  adopted  it  as  his  own,  it  would  excite  Mr.  Fowler 
sorrow  in  the  breast  of  all  his  Christian  friends ;  duel  him  to 
and  if  he  did  not  adopt  it,  but  put  it  into  the  certain  por- 
mouth  of  an  imaginary  personage,   he   would  doe^'not1* 
still,  in  the  mind  of  some  of  his  readers,  render  succeed- 
himself  obnoxious   to  the  suspicion  of  adopting  it,  and 
thus  expose  himself  unnecessarily  to   the  odium  theolo- 
gicum.     All  my  arguments  were  ineffectual.     The  pas 
sage  now  stands  as  originally  written,  affording,  as  was 
supposed  by  many  at  the  time  of  its  publication,  sufficient 
ground  for  the  suspicion.     The  reason  he  alleged  for  his 
persistence  was,  that  a  poet  should  not  be  held  respon 
sible  for  either  logical  or  illogical  inferences  against  him, 
drawn  from  his  wayward  or  transient  fancies,  and  that  he 
could  use  poetically  unchristian  sentiments  or  pagan  my 
thology  without  subjecting  himself  to  the  charge  of  adopt 
ing  either. 

He  composed  very  rapidly  and  under  the  highest  men 
tal  excitement.*  On  one  occasion  he  read  to  me,  His  habit  of 
before  the  college  recitation  at  eleven  o'clock,  comP°sitiOD- 
seventeen  stanzas  of  nine  lines  each,  composed  that  very 

*  This  is  confirmed  by  all  his  friends.    He  used  to  bite  his  finger 
nails  while  writing. 


126  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  VIII. 

morning.  He  often  came  to  my  room  to  show  me  what 
he  had  just  written,  while  the  afflatus  was  upon  him, 
while  the  mem  divinior  was  in  play,  as  if  in  the  act  of 
creation,  while  his  face  shone  as  if  he  had  just  come 
down  from  the  sacred  mount,  flushed  by  an  interview 
with  the  mythological  immortals.  The  readiness  and  con 
tinuity  of  his  poetic  associations  were  marvellous.  In  his 
poem  entitled  "  Maria,"  there  are  seventy-eight  lines  of 
continuous  poetic  association  without  a  period.  The  next 
sentence  has  in  it  thirty-nine  lines.  Percival  was  not  in 
the  habit  of  improving  his  writings  by  revision.  On  my 
mentioning  the  numberless  corrections  made  by  Pope, 
and  also  his  remark  that  he  took  as  much  pleasure  in 
correcting  as  he  did  in  writing,  and  also  the  remark  of 
Bacon,  or  some  one,  that  all  new  creations  are  like  cubs, 
Does  not  like  which  the  parent  bear  must  lick  into  shape, 

the  labor  _  .  At-. 

lima.  he  replied,  after  musing  for  a  time,  "  Minerva 
sprang  from  the  brain  of  Jupiter,  a  finished  goddess  at 
her  birth." 

The  period,  reaching  from  the  time  when  he  com- 
The  hap-  menced  publishing  in  the  Microscope,  in  1820,  to 
oMiis1**"*1  tne  time  when  he  attained  his  appointment  at 
West  Point  in  1824,  was  probably  the  happiest 
portion  of  his  life.*  By  means  of  his  first  volume  enti 
tled  t*  Poems,"  published  in  1821,  he  was  brought  into  com 
munication  with  the  human  world,  in  which  he  had  long 
lived  as  in  a  wilderness.  By  this  communion  he  felt  his 
soul  invigorated  into  a  livelier  sympathy  with  others,  as 
they  took  an  interest  in  him,  so  that  his  higher  hopes  and 
purposes  were  strengthened  beyond  what  they  had  ever 
been  in  his  hermit  state.  In  this  period  he  also  published 

*  In  some  respects  this  was  true,  yet  the  touching  confessions  in  his 
letters  give  a  different  version  to  the  story. 


RECOLLECTIONS  BY  PROF.  FOWLER.    127 

the  First  and  Second  Parts  of  Clio,  and  the  Second  Part 
of  Prometheus,  and  also  an  octavo  volume  containing  se 
lections  from  his  works.  These  publications  were  praised 
by  reviewers,  who  bore  flattering  testimony  to  the  large 
capacities  of  his  genius  for  future  efforts.  About  this 
time  selections  from  his  works  were  published  in  London. 
The  students  of  the  colleges  and  the  literary  men  gener 
ally  hailed  him  as  a  rising  star  in  the  literary  firmament. 
Sweet  voices  warbled  his  numbers,  sweet  lips^iionin 
recited  them  and  breathed  forth  his  praises ; those  days> 
and  as  he  walked  the  streets  a  "cold  shy  poet,"  the 
"  observed  of  all  observers,"  with  self-application  he 
could  repeat  the  line, 

"  At  pulchrum  est  digito  monstrari  et  dicier  '  Hie  est.'  " 

At  this  time,  too,  he  was  contemplating  what  was  to  bo 
the  great  poem  of  his  life,  in  four  parts,  entitled  His  pi»n  of 

an  elaborate 

"  MAN.  In  the  First  Part,  he  would  treat  of  poem. 
the  actual  perfection  of  man  ;  in  the  Second,  of  the  prob 
able  perfection  of  man ;  in  the  Third,  of  the  possible  per 
fection  of  man  ;  in  the  Fourth,  of  the  imaginable  perfec 
tion  of  man.  He  expressed  to  me  his  hopes  that  he 
might  enjoy  from  the  sale  of  his  works  so  much  pecu 
niary  independence  that  he  would  be  able  to  write  this 
work,  the  details  of  which  he  described  to  me  with  great 
particularity.  And  in  the  vista  of  the  future,  which  his 
genius  was  beginning  to  open  to  him  through  the  wilder 
ness,  he  could  see  hovering  the  forms  of  domestic  bliss. 
Could  some  one  at  this  time  have  taken  him  up  to  place 
him  in  a  permanent  home,  supplied  his  simple  His  neea  of 
wants,  and  have  been  to  him  what  the  Thrales  a  Msecenas- 
were  to  Johnson,  and  the  Unwins  were  to  Cowper,  and 
Guy  Mannering  was  to  Dominie  Sampson,  and  Guy 


128  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  VIII. 

Darrell  was  to  Hawthorne,  the  history  of  his  life  might 
have  been  the  reverse  of  what  it  was.  Are  such  instances 
of  benevolence  in  social  life  confined  to  England  ?  Will 
they  ever  be  found  in  our  own  country  ? 

Percival  uttered  sceptical  language  in  his  poetry,  which 
gave  pain  to  his  Christian  friends.  But  he  also  used 
language  which  recognized  the  truths  of  the  Christian 
religion ;  he  used  the  expressions  related  to  Christianity 
just  as  another  would  use  expressions  borrowed  from 
classical  mythology,  as  a  poet  only,  for  the  purpose  of 
Percivainot  illustration  or  impression.  He  was  not  indif- 

hostile  to 

religion.  fereiit  to  the  Christian  religion,  as  a  system  of 
doctrines,  or  as  an  inner  life  in  the  souls  of  men,  or  as  an 
outward  manifestation  in  their  actions,  or  as  expressed  in 
the  forms  of  worship.  In  the  sermons  of  Professor  Fitch, 
then  in  the  flower  of  his  popularity,  he  appreciated  the 
logical  analysis  of  the  doctrines,  the  felicitous  language, 
and  the  occasional  bursts  of  eloquence.  In  the  sermons 
of  Dr.  Taylor,  he  appreciated  the  powerful  appeals  to  the 
conscience  and  the  fears,  when  the  preacher  was  moving 
along  his  burning  track  into  direct  collision  of  his  strong 
will  with  the  sinner's  will.  And  even  in  the  sermons  of 
young  preachers  of  his  acquaintance  he  found  something 
to  interest  him. 

Percival  was  examined  for  the  degree  of  M.  D.  in 
1820.  The  examination  was  prolonged,  not.  for  the  pur 
pose  of  satisfying  the  examiners  of  his  qualifications,  but 
for  the  purpose  of  beholding  his  treasured  stores  of  med- 
His  failure  ical  knowledge.  He  attempted  to  reduce  his 
m  Berlin.  science  to  practice  in  Berlin,  among  the  patrons 
of  his  father,  a  physician.  After  staying  there  a  few 
months,  he  made  out  his  bills  for  collection.  One  man 
criticised  his  bill  so  sharply  that  Percival  in  disgust 


RECOLLECTIONS  BY  PKOF.  FOWLER.      129 

destroyed  all  the  rest  of  them,  and  came  off  to  New 
Haven. 

He  spent  a  part  or  all  of  a  winter  in  Charleston,  S.  C., 
with  some  purpose  of  establishing  himself  there  In  charies- 
in  his  profession.    There  he  wrote  and  published  tou> 
his  beautiful  poem,  commencing, 

"  Flower  in  a  Southern  garden  newly  blowing," 

and  some  other  poems,  which  were  much  admired  by  the 
appreciative  and  highly  cultivated  people  with  ms  southern 
whom  he  had  intercourse  there.  When  he  re-  JZen«d  ^ 
turned  to  New  Haven  in  the  spring,  the  ice  upOQ  him- 
seemed  to  have  been  melted  out  of  him  in  that  genial 
climate.  He  himself  became  in  a  good  degree  genial 
and  confiding.  Not  long  after  he  was,  by  universal  con 
sent,  placed  inter  amabiks  vatum  choros,  and  in  the  esti 
mation  of  some  as  the  coryphceus  of  American  bards. 
His  acquaintance  was  sought  by  many  who  had  passed 
him  by  with  indifference.  It  was  his  good  fortune  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  a  circle  of  intelli-  He  ig  kiudiy 
gent  and  refined  ladies  in  New  Haven,  who  JJ^ew1 
had  by  his  works  been  attracted  to  their  au-  Haven- 
thor.  In  them  he  found  qualities  which  had  hitherto, 
in  his  experience,  existed  only  in  his  ideal  of  female  ex 
cellence.  They  could  charm  from  their  lurking-places 
in  his  soul  into  distinct  manifestation  those  forms  of 
thought  and  sentiment  which  he  had  hitherto  cherished 
in  solitude.  In  them  he  could  find  a  counterpart  or  com 
plement  of  himself.  They,  from  their  habitual  conscious 
ness,  could  understand  and  admire  in  him  refinements  of 
character  which  coarser  and  more  robust  minds  would 
fail  to  appreciate.  With  them  he  talked  upon  esthetics, 
whether  in  their  application  to  nature  or  moral  sentiment 
6*  I 


130  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  VIII. 

or  human  conduct ;  or  he  strolled  with  them  occasionally 
in  the  fields,  surveying  such  objects  on  the  earth  or  in  the 
sky  as  would  interest  a  naturalist  or  a  poet. 

"  How  happily  the  days  of  Thalaba  weut  by!  " 

As  an  expression  of  his  own  feelings  or  as  a  picture  for 
others  to  look  at,  or  as  mementos  of  the  partners  of  his 
social  enjoyments  in  those  talks  and  walks,  he  composed 
his  very  beautiful  poem  entitled  "  Mental  Harmony."  If 
I  remember  right,  he  told  me  that  another  fine  piece, 
entitled  "  Mental  Beauty,"  bore  some  relation  to  the  same 
social  intercourse  with  those  ladies. 

In  1821  he  made  a  pedestrian  tour  to  Niagara  to  be- 
A  visit  to  hold  that  "  stupendous  miracle  of  Nature."  On 
Niagara.  j^g  return  he  narrated  to  me  his  adventures  in 
his  tour.  He  arrived  at  a  country  town  on  the  Canada 
side,  within  hearing  of  the  cataract,  about  nightfall.  He 
retired  to  rest,  and  lay  broad  awake  under  the  in 
fluence  of  the  dreamy  sound  of  the  falling  waters.  As 
he  could  not  sleep,  he  rose  while  it  was  yet  night  and 
hastened  forward  that  he  might  see  the  Falls  at  the 
first  full  light  of  the  next  day.  As  he  pressed  onward, 
his  walk,  at  first  moderate,  became  faster  and  then 
faster,  until  it  was  changed  into  an  Indian  trot,  and 
this  into  a  full  run,  in  which  he  exerted  his  limbs  to 
their  utmost  power.  He  arrived  at  the  Falls  at  his 
highest  speed,  out  of  breath,  panting,  looked  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  turned  away  in  bitter  disappointment.  He 
went  to  the  hotel,  took  breakfast,  read  the  newspapers, 
and  concluded  to  leave  after  dinner.  Before  dining,  he 
took  a  stroll  which  brought  him  to  the  Falls,  which 
aroused  an  interest  not  felt  in  the  morning.  This  in 
terest  grew  upon  him  until  the  excitement  in  his  mind 


HIS    PHI    BETA    KAPPA    ORATION.  131 

rose   to   an    overpowering    emotion  of  sublimity  which 
chained  him  to  the  place  for  some  days. 

In  practical  life,  Dr.  Percival  often  found  himself  dis 
appointed  in  not  being  able  to  realize  his  ideal.  His  PW 

Beta  Kappa 

Much  to  his  gratification,  he  was  appointed  to  oration.  • 
deliver  the  annual  poem  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa 
Society  in  1822.  After  writing  a  considerable  portion 
of  this  poem,  he  very  earnestly  said  to  me  "  that  the 
society  had  made  a  great  mistake  in  appointing  him  to 
deliver  a  poem,  when  prose  was  his  forte."  Having  had 
something  to  do  with  his  appointment,  I  felt  a  little  dis 
turbed  by  this  declaration.  I  urged  him  strenuously  and 
repeatedly  to  go  on  and  fulfil  his  obligations,  telling  him, 
for  his  encouragement,  that  if  he  would  deliver  the  poem 
this  year,  he  might  be  appointed  to  deliver  the  oration 
next  year.  But  he  could  not  be  persuaded  to  go  on  with 
his  poem.  At  his  request,  therefore,  his  appointment  was 
changed  to  an  oration,  which  he  wrote  and  delivered.  It 
was  afterwards  printed,  and  well  spoken  of  by  his  friends. 
The  poem,  if  memory  serves  me,  was  the  Second  Part 
of  Prometheus,  and  was  delivered  before  one  of  the 
college  societies. 

I  shall  now  break  up  Professor  Fowler's  excellent 
communication  into  several  parts,  one  of  which  will  be 
given  in  the  following  chapter,  in  order  to  fit  it  more 
easily  into  rny  narrative. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

1822,  1823. 

PUBLICATION  OF  HIS  SELECTED  WORKS.  —  CRITICISED  IN  THE 
CHRISTIAN  SPECTATOR.  —  THINKS  OF  TAKING  HOLY  ORDERS.  — 
LETTER  FROM  FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK.  —  TROUBLE  WITH  A  PUB 
LISHER.  —  BECOMES  AN  EDITOR. 

HOUGH  Percival  was  at  this  time  very  pop 
ular  with  the  more  cultivated  classes,  the  ma 
jority  of  the  American  people  still  preferred  the 
drum  and  the  trumpet  to  a  finer  music.  Genius 
Paucity  of  was  not  yet  recognized  broadly  in  the  different 
people  in  the  grades  of  society.  This  did  riot  damp  his  liter- 
lteS  arv  enthusiasm.  No  sooner  had  he  seen  Pro 


metheus,  Part  II.,  well  into  the  publisher's 
hands,  than  he  turned  his  attention  to  a  select  republi- 
cation  of  his  poetical  works,  and  soon  went  to  New  York 
A  literary  to  consult  in  regard  to  it  with  Mr.  Stone,  the 
York.  journalist,  and  with  Mr.  Arthur  Bronson,  who 

was  interested  in  Percival,  and  situated  in  a  way  to  render 
him  material  service.  Mr.  Charles  Wiley  was  then  one 
of  the  chief  literary  magnates  of  New  York.  In  the 
rear  of  his  store  the  choice  litterateurs  of  the  day  had  a 
sort  of  club-room,  where  they  often  met  for  the  inter 
change  of  literary  and  social  life.  Here  Cooper  and 
Bryant  and  Stone  and  Goodrich  were  often  seen  ;  and 
here  they  suggested  to  Wiley  the  publication  of  Perci- 


Jfttf.]         PUBLICATION    OF    HIS    WORKS.  133 

val's  poetry  in  a  form  befitting  such  brilliant  productions. 
To  this  Wiley  consented,  and  they  at  once  drew  up  a  con 
tract.  The  volume  was  to  be  an  octavo,  of  about  four  hun 
dred  pages,  published  "  in  a  style  equal  to  the  Sketch-Book 
in  all  respects,"  to  be  bound  in  boards,  and  to  sell  for 
three  dollars  per  volume.  Wiley  was  to  take  A  selected 
the  expense  and  risk  of  the  edition  when  two  hS^Jems  to 
hundred  good  subscriptions  had  been  obtained.  bepub 
He  was  also  to  advance  to  Percival  sixty  dollars,  which 
was  to  be  refunded  out  of  the  first  actual  avails  of  the 
work,  but,  in  case  Wiley  violated  the  contract,  was  not  to 
be  refunded  at  all.  The  edition  was  to  be  one  of  seven 
hundred  and  fifty  copies.  Wiley  engaged  a  room  for 
Percival,  and  he  was  to  remain  in  town  while  the  work 
was  passing  through  the  press. 

While  these  negotiations  were  pending  in  New  York, 
Percival  received  a  kind  word  of  cheer  from  the  late 
Professor  Goodrich,  a  man  whose  work  as  an  instructor 
of  youth  was  not  less  important  than  his  own  numerous 
contributions  to  literature  :  — 

TO  JAMES   G.  PERCIVAL. 

YALE  COLLEGE,  November  30,  1S22. 

MY  DEAR  SIR, — 

Permit  me  to  return  my  acknowledgments  for  the  high 
gratification  which  I  have  found  in  reading  your  Letter  from 

0  J     .      Professor 

late  sketch  of  the  maid  watching  over  the  pil-  Goodrich. 
low  of  her  dying  lover.*     There  is  in  that  piece  a  deli- 

*  The  poem  here  referred  to  is  the  one  entitled  "  Night  Watching." 
He  was  requested  by  several  others  to  insert  it  in  this  volume.  It  was 
published  in  a  Virginia  paper  in  February,  1823,  with  the  following 
preface,  explaining  it:  — 

"  The  lines  which  follow,  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Percival,  an  American 
poet,  seem  to  have  been  composed  with  a  distinct  allusion  to  the  awful 


134  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  IX. 

cacy,  richness,  and  pathos  which  would  give  your  name 
to  distant  ages  as  a  genuine  poet,  were  it  the  only  pro 
duction  of  your  pen.  I  feel  assured,  my  dear  sir,  that 
your  efforts  are  yet  to  confer  distinction  on  our  country 
in  that  department  where  we  have  been  most  deficient. 

From  my  relative,  Mr.  Samuel  G.  Goodrich,  I  have 
Advice  about  just  learnt  that  you  contemplate  the  publication 

thenewvol-    J  J 

ume.  of  a  volume,  containing  the  most  finished  effu 

sions  of  your  pen.  I  rejoice  to  hear  it,  and  to  learn  that 
the  style  of  execution  will  be  elegant.  It  will,  I  hope, 
contain  the  piece  to  which  I  have  alluded.  May  I  ven 
ture  to  add  that,  with  the  habits  of  this  country,  the  ex 
pense  of  work  of  taste  cannot  be  made  very  large  for  a 
single  volume ;  and  that  an  elegant  volume,  not  too  large, 
might  be  followed  by  others  with  a  greater  probability  of 
success.  I  beg  you  to  consider  me  as  a  subscriber ;  and 
to  accept  the  small  sum  enclosed  as  my  payment  in  ad 
vance  and  as  a  testimony  of  my  high  respect  for  your 
talents.  My  wretched  state  of  health  and  the  pressure  of 
multiplied  duties  have  prevented  me  from  cultivating  that 
more  intimate  acquaintance  which  my  feelings  would  have 
dictated.  If  there  is  any  way  in  which  I  can  serve  you, 
pray  give  me  the  opportunity, 

And  believe  me  your  sincere  friend, 

CHAUNCEY  A.   GOODRICH. 

calamity  that  spread  a  gloom  over  the  most  busy  part  of  the  city  ot 
New  York  during  the  last  summer.  That  the  picture  is  drawn  with 
a  pathos  and  a  feeling  true  of  nature,  every  heart  must  own ;  and  many 
can  bear  witness  to  a  mournful  exemplification  of  a  portion  of  it  in 
our  humble  village.  Those  who  saw  the  tender  assiduities,  the  heart- 
thrilling  grief,  of  the  agonized  wife,  over  the  couch  of  her  departing 
husband,  or  heard  her  sorrow-moving  accents,  as  she  took  a  '  last,  last 
look  '  at '  him  she  loved,'  must  admit  that  the  poet  has  not  indulged  a 
mere  fiction  of  the  brain,  but  has  portrayed  the  feelings  of  humanity 
with  a  sentiment  and  a  tenderness  inspired  by  the  noblest  and  best 
affections  of  the  heart." 


CRITICISED  IN  CHRISTIAN  SPECTATOR.  135 

His  friend  of  the  Microscope,  Mr.  Tuthill,  now  the 
editor  of  the  Christian  Spectator,  still  showed  his  in 
terest  in  an  excellent  way  :  — 

NEW  HAVEN,  November  30,  1822. 
DEAR  SIR, — 

In  accordance  with  what  I  mentioned  to  you  when  I 
saw  you  last,  I  send  you,  in  company  with  this,  ^^j.  from 
the  December  number  of  the  Spectator  contain-  Mr-  TuthilL 
ing  a  review  of  your  poems.  We  have  endeavored  to 
state  their  literary  merits  candidly  and  justly,  and  to 
speak  of  their  religious  character  kindly  and  affection 
ately,  yet  independently.  I  think  the  things  that  are 
suggested  cannot  fail  to  be  taken  in  good  part  by  you. 
Whatever  may  be  your  impression  of  the  ability  of  the 
review,  one  thing,  I  think,  you  will  readily  admit;  it 
shows  a  pretty  thorough  and  minute  acquaintance  with 
your  poems  and  with  your  poetical  powers. 

I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  from  you  on  this  or  any  other 
subject.  Pray,  what  are  your  prospects  ?  Do  speak 
freely  of  them.  You  need  not  be  told  that,  if  I  can  in 
any  way  advance  your  interests,  my  services  are  at  your 
command. 

Yours  affectionately, 

C.  TUT1IILL. 

I  superscribe  to  the  "  care  of  Mr.  Stone,"  as  I  have 
seen  some  of  your  effusions  in  his  paper.  The  one  on 
the  Dying  Lover  is  inimitable. 

C.  T. 

In  the  article  here  referred  to  by  Mr.  Tulhill,  the  writer 
complains  of  the  general  spirit  of  his  poetry,  "as  hos 
tile  to  the  influence  of  the  Gospel,  as  well  as  of  partic- 


136  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  IX. 

ular  positive  representations  of  a  sceptical  nature,  which, 
Another  together  with  a  gloomy  sententiousness  peculiar 
firoma're-  to  our  author,  are  calculated  to  freeze  up  the 
plErf  verv  sources  of  devout  and  benevolent  feeling." 
view.  rpne  crjtic  sayS  that "  The  Suicide,  though  in  some 

respects  the  most  uninteresting  of  the  longer  pieces,  and 
from  the  nature  of  the  subject  the  most  revolting  to  our 
feelings,  is  yet  an  instance  of  that  force  of  thought,  and 
that  frenzied  energy  of  mind,  which  can  be  infused  into 
very  harmonious  verses."  "  Imagination  employed  in  the 
description  of  natural  scenery  is,  if  we  mistake  not,  Dr. 
Percival's  forte."  "  In  the  Coral  Grove  we  perceive  the 
imagination  of  Shakespeare  himself.  None  but  a  poet  of 
the  true  vein  could  have  contrived  such  a  dream  of  fancy." 
"  We  doubt  whether  it  would  be  possible  for  Dr.  Percival 
to  confine  his  attention  to  any  one  subject,  however  ex 
tensive  or  interesting,  sufficiently  long  to  produce  a  regu 
lar  and  continuous  poem.  Prometheus  gives  us,  on  the 
whole,  the  most  correct  idea  of  the  author's  powers,  arid 
at  the  same  time  a  melancholy  proof  of  his  vacillating 
views  of  religion." 

"  If  we  may  add  a  word  concerning  the  metre  of  his 
poems,  we  would  remark  that,  in  general,  they  are  very 
graceful  and  harmonious.  He  differs  from  '  the  pointed 
polish  and  elaborate  elegance '  of  Pope,  who  is  the  stand 
ard  of  harmony,  —  not  as  Cowper  differs,  who  wants  not 
the  polish,  but  only  the  appearance  of  art  in  the  manly 
flow  of  his  numbers,  —  not  as  Southey,  to  whom  belongs 
1  every  light  bestowed  by  brilliancy,'  but  whose  glowing 
periods  are  not  a  perfect  model  of  classical  sweetness,  — 
not  as  Byron,  whose  harmony  is  all  that  can  consist  with 
his  strength  and  sententiousness  ;  —  but  rather  as  Moore, 
who  yields  in  elegance  to  no  one,  but  whose  flow  is  too 


CRITICISED  IN  CHRISTIAN  SPECTATOR.  137 

full  to  be  compressed  into  Pope's  point  and  antithesis. 
We  place  Dr.  Percival,  republican  as  he  is,  in  the  com 
pany  of  the  laurelled  and  the  noble,  not  because  he  has 
already  reached  their  stature,  but  from  a  conviction  that 
he,  if  any  one  from  among  our  young  countrymen,  may 
aspire  after  their  poetical  distinction." 

He  now  returned  to  Berlin  to  select  and  prepare  for 
the  new  volume.     At  that  day  an  American 

In  Berlin. 

author  was  more  ambitious  than  now  of  an 
English  reputation.  Irving  had  already  published  abroad 
and  at  home,  and  the  name  of  Murray  upon  a  title-page 
had  then  the  power  to  carry  off  an  edition  of  almost  any 
book.  At  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Bronson,  Percival  now 
wrote  to  Mr.  I.  Everett  of  Boston,  who  had  extensive 
dealings  with  English  publishers,  about  the  republication 
of  his  works  in  London.  Mr.  Everett,  in  reply,  Thinks  of  re- 

r  J  '  publication 

advised  him  to  send  his  manuscript  to  Murray,  abroad. 
who  then  "  appeared  to  be  looking  towards  our  country 
with  some   expectation  of  finding  new   authors   to  em 
ploy,"  and  kindly  offered  to  assist  him  in  any  way  he 
could. 

Percival  then  went  to  Boston,  in  the  last  of  December, 
1822,  to  make  more  minute  inquiries.     His  mind 

In  Boston. 

appears  now  to  have  been  intent  upon  some  pro 
fession  which,  aside  from  letters,  should  gain  him  a  living. 
His  poems  would  soon  be  issued  from  the  press,  and  then 
he  would  have  nothing  to  do.  The  practice  of  medicine 
had  been  already  given  up ;  and  he  found  that  his  literary 
reputation  would  do  nothing  to  support  him.  His  prop 
erty,  save  what  was  spent  in  hi.s  preparatory  studies,  had 
also  been  invested  chiefly  in  a  valuable  library  ;  and  with 
out  means  for  the  future,  he  was  anxiously  casting  about 
for  a  suitable  occupation.  It  is  a  singular  fact  that,  at 


138  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  IX. 

this  time,  his  attention  was  turned  to  the  taking  of  holy 
Thinks  of  orders  in  the  Episcopal  Church.  While  in 
fntheEpil  Boston  he  wrote  a  letter, dated  January  7,  1823, 
copal  church.  to  ^  fr[end  the  Reverend  Hector  Humphrey, 

who  was  then  a  Professor  in  Trinity  College,  Hartford, 
Conn.,  requesting  to  know  how  he  might  obtain  them. 
In  his  reply  Mr.  Humphrey  says:  "The  contents  [of  your 
letter],  I  assure  you,  were  highly  gratifying  to  me,  al 
though  the  subject  was  sudden  and  unexpected,  and  one 
upon  which  I  should  not  at  this  time  feel  competent  to 
advise  you.  You  ask  not  my  advice,  however,  but  my 
information."  He  then  goes  on  to  furnish  him  with  the 
needed  directions,  closing  with  the  kind  assurance  "  that 
nothing  could  give  me  greater  satisfaction  than  to  have  it 
in  my  power  to  call  myself  in  more  senses  than  one  your 
friend  and  brother."  There  is  no  evidence  that  he  ever 
pursued  the  subject  any  further.  But  it  is  gratifying  to 
know  that  so  soon  after  his  sad,  melancholy,  and  dark 
views  of  revelation,  he  could  turn  his  attention  honestly  to 
such  sacred  duties.  The  cause  of  his  turning  to  the  Episco 
pal  Church,  in  such  a  case,  was  probably  owing  to  his 
early  education  under  his  uncle,  the  Reverend  Seth  Hart, 
on  Long  Island.  And  yet  his  library,  in  its  collection  of 
English  theology  and  miscellaneous  publications,  shows 
that,  although  throughout  life  he  seldom  attended  divine 
worship,  he  was  always  a  somewhat  careful  student  of 
her  teachings  and  literature. 

He  speedily  returned  from  Boston  and  took  his  manu- 
He  takes  his  scripts  to  New  York,  intending  to  reside  there 
aSfgoe" t?  while  the  volume  was  in  press.  But  his  stay 
New  York.  wag  B^QT^  jj}s  room  smoked,  and  the  French 
men  in  an  adjoining  tenement  kept  up  a  continual  playing 
upon  the  violin.  He  found  other  troubles.  But  the  noise 


LETTER  FROM  MR.  HALLECK.      139 

and  the  music  were  in  themselves  too  much  for  him  ;  and 
suddenly,  to  the  astonishment  of  all,  the  poet  had  disap 
peared.  He  became  disheartened  with  the  pub-  Departs  sud- 
lication.  Further  light  is  thrown  upon  his  con-  denly' 
duct  and  feelings  at  this  time  by  the  part  of  my  commu 
nication  from  Professor  Fowler  which  follows  :  — 

Not  very  long  after  Percival  became  known  to  the 
country  as  a  poet,  I  happened  to  meet  in  New  professor 
Haven  my  old  friend  Fitz-Greene  Halleck,  the  SSions 
poet,  who  had  just-  returned  from  his  travels  agam' 
abroad.  I  proposed  to  him  to  call  upon  Percival,  who  was 
personally  a  stranger.  To  this  he  readily  consented.  Ac 
cordingly  we  went  to  Percival's  room,  a  retired  An  interview 
chamber  in  the  house  of  Mr.  Johnson  in  Chapel 
Street.  When  the  two  poets  met,  there  was 
certainly  a  great  contrast  between  them.  The  Halleck- 
one  was  a  man  of  the  world,  polished  and  fashionably 
dressed,  fresh  from  foreign  travel,  of  warm  manners, 
ready  sympathies,  fascinating  address,  and  graceful  con 
versation.  The  other  was  Percival,  such  as  I  have  de 
scribed  him  to  be.  During  the  first  part  of  the  interview 
they  were  still  apart,  though  in  the  presence  of  each  other. 
After  a  while  Percival  became  responsive,  the  coldness 
passed  off,  and  the  souls  of  the  two  poets,  in  full  and  free 
communion,  flowed  on  in  a  delightful  stream  of  conver 
sation.  Recollecting  this  interview,  I  addressed  a  letter 
to  the  survivor,  Mr.  Halleck,  asking  him  for  some  re 
membrances  of  Percival.  To  this  he  wrote  me  the  fol 
lowing  reply :  — 


140  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  IX. 

TO  PROFESSOR  WILLIAM  C.  FOWLER. 

GUILFOKD,  CONN.,  August  13, 1863. 
DEATI  SIR, — 

I  have  had  the  honor  of  receiving  your  favor  of  tho 

Letter  from      3d  instant. 

Mr.  iiaiieck.  j  wejj  reniernDer  the  interview  with  Percival 
to  which  you  allude  and  for  which  I  was  so  deeply  in 
debted  to  your  kindness ;  and  I  blush  to  remember  that, 
in  endeavoring  to  draw  him  out  in  conversation,  I  in 
flicted  upon  you  both  more  of  my  own  rambling  talk 
than  was  meet  or  interesting.  He  certainly  proved  him 
self,  on  the  occasion,  rather  a  courteous  listener  than  an 
intrusive  speaker,  saying  very  little,  but  saying  that  little 
exceedingly  well. 

Several  years  afterwards,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  dining 
At  a  din-  with  him  at  the  table  of  a  gentleman  of  your 
inNeif*  acquaintance  in  New  Haven,  who  had  done  me 
the  honor  of  inviting  me  specially  to  meet  Per 
cival.  He  then  took  gradually  and  gracefully  the  lead  in 
conversation,  and  kept  it,  blending  grave  topics  with  gay, 
during  the  dinner  and  in  the  drawing-room  after,  to  the 
delight  of  a  circle  of  some  seven  or  eight  of  us,  including 
two  or  three  ladies,  one  of  whom  has  since  told  me  how 
agreeably  disappointed  she  was  to  find,  in  the  place  of 
the  morose  and  silent  and  bashful  personage  she  had  been 
led  to  expect,  so  cheerful  arid  charming  a  companion. 
He  was  then  deep  in  the  study  of  the  languages  of 
Northern  Europe,  and  told  a  love  story  or  two,  whose 
scenes  were  laid  in  Sweden,  in  so  interesting  a  manner, 
that  "she  now  blends  him  with  her  pleasant  recollec 
tions  of  the  romances  of  Miss  Bremer  and  the  music 
of  Jenny  Lind. 


LETTER  FROM  MR.  HALLECK.      141 

I  was  introduced  to  him  for  the  first  time  as  far  back 
as  1821  or  1822  in  New  York,  where  he  was  passing  a 
few  weeks  and  was  a  frequent  guest  of  Mr.  Cooper,  the 
novelist,  and  of  a  circle  of  gentlemen  delighting  in  liter 
ature  and  its  specialties,  all  of  whom  appreciated  and  ad 
mired  him  alike  as  a  man  and  a  man  of  letters,  and  were 
very  desirous  that  he  should  become  a  resident  of  New 
York,  and  make  authorship  a  pursuit  as  well  as  a  pas 
time,  with  a  view  to  which  they  tried  to  persuade  him  to 
publish  a  new  volume  of  poems.  A  reminiscence  con 
nected  with  the  subject  may,  possibly,  aid  in  supplying 
you  with  materials  for  the  contemplated  work  you  men 
tion. 

On  Percival's  return  to  New  Haven,  Mr.  William  L. 
Stone,  then  the  editor  of  the  Commercial  Ad-  percivai's 
vertiser,  opened  a  correspondence  with  him,  Si  CoSeT 
referring  to  the  desired  volume,  and  offering  Stone> 
his  services  in  obtaining  a  publisher,  carrying  the 
work  through  the  press,  etc.,  and  for  a  time  had  reason 
to  hope  that  his  request  would  be  granted  ;  but  after  a 
delay  of  some  weeks,  Percival  wrote  him  that  circum 
stances  had  put  it  out  of  his  power  to  devote  himself  to 
poetry,  and  had  compelled  him  to  accept  employment  in 
that  most  degrading  and  disgraceful  of  all  occupations, 
—  the  editorship  of  a  party  newspaper!  As  Mr.  Stone 
had  long  and  honorably  held  that  position,  and  cherished 
it  dearly  as  a  source,  not  only  of  power  and  profit,  but  of 
social  pleasure,  the  mat  apropos  ingenuousness  of  the  sen 
sitive  poet  amused  us  all  exceedingly,  and  no  one  more 
so  than  Mr.  Stone  himself.  His  son  survives  him,  and  re 
sides,  I  believe,  in  New  York  at  this  moment.  The  letter 
would  form  a  curious  item  in  the  forthcoming  biography. 

I  shall  be  happy  to  hear  from  you  at  all  times  on  this 


142  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  IX. 

and  all  subjects  interesting  to  you,  and  hope  that  you  will 
not  allow  us  long  to  wait  for  a  volume  so  certain  to  de 
light  and  interest  us. 

Believe  me,  dear  sir, 

Most  truly  yours, 

FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK. 
PROFESSOR  W.  C.  FOWLER. 


As  Colonel  Stone  and  his  excellent  and  accomplished 
wife  are  both  numbered  with  the  dead,  I  applied  for  in 
formation  concerning  the  poet  to  their  son,  Mr.  W.  L. 
Stone,  who  has  inherited  the  taste  and  talent  of  both 
parents.  In  his  reply  he  sent  me  an  extract  from  a 

letter  addressed  to  him  by  his  aunt,  Miss  W ,  the 

sister  of  Mrs.  Stone  ;  an  original  piece  of  poetry  not 
before  published ;  and  the  following  letter  written  by 
Percival  to  his  father:  — 


TO   COLONEL  WILLIAM  L.   STONE. 

NEW  HAVEN,  February  29,  1823. 

SIR,— 

I  have  been  informed  by  S.  G.  Goodrich,  that  Mr. 
Letter  to       Wiley  has  obtained  the  requisite  number  of  sub- 

Colonel  .    * 

stone.  scnbers,  and  that  he  is  ready  to  put  my  volume 

to  the  press  when  I  have  forwarded  him  my  copy.  I 
have  sent  him  my  selections,  but  he  insists  on  something 
new.  I  am  in  no  condition  to  furnish  it.  He  has  neg 
lected  to  pay  me  what  he  had  engaged,  and  in  a  miserable 
hour  I  engaged  as  an  editor.  I  assure  you,  I  am  most 
thoroughly  sick  of  it.  I  do  not  wish  this  volume  pub 
lished  till  I  am  in  a  situation  to  superintend  it  myself. 
I  wish  to  make  it  in  every  respect  worthy  of  myself  and  of 


Ifk]       TROUBLE    WITH    HIS    PUBLISHER.  143 

my  country.  But  how  can  I  do  it,  when  I  cannot  obtain 
even  the  pittance  of  forty  dollars,  and  when  I  am  concerning 
forced  to  scribble  for  a  country  newspaper  to  get  ^buSS^n 
my  bread  ?  I  am  in  a  strait  betwixt  two,  —  New  York> 
on  the  one  hand,  I  wish  the  publication  to  be  made  as  the 
only  bright  opening  before  me  to  escape  the  wretched 
thraldom  in  which  I  now  am  ;  and  on  the  other,  I  do  not 
wish  it  to  go  forward  unless  I  can  be  put  in  a  situation 
where  I  can  do  justice  to  it  and  to  my  own  reputation.  I 
ask  only  one  thing.  Let  me  be  free  and  at  ease  until  I 
can  prepare  this  volume.  Let  me  have  no  other  care  but 
this,  and  I  will  try  to  supply  something  new,  equal  to 
what  has  gone  before.  I  am  really  desirous  to  supply 
much  that  is  new,  but  I  shall  not  attempt  to  supply  a  line 
until  I  am  delivered  from  my  present  condition.  When 
this  volume  is  prepared  as  I  wish  it  to  be,  I  care  not  what 
comes  next.  I  shall  consider  myself  then  as  poetically 
defunct,  and  shall  have  no  other  object  in  view  than  to 
accomplish  my  destiny.  I  have  written  to  Mr.  Wiley, 
but  I  can  get  no  answer.  Please  to  write  me  and  let  me 
know  all  about  this  affair. 

Yours,  &c., 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 


TO  JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

NEW  YORK,  March  4, 1823. 

SIR, — 

Your  favor  of  the  29th  ultimo  is  now  before  me ;  and 
while  I  am  glad  to  hear  from  you,  still  I  am  colonel 
sorry  that  you  are  not  in  better  spirits.    I  hope,  ^i09e^r^< 
however,  that  ere  this  the  clouds  have  blown  away.     I 
regret  that  you  are  so  soon  wearied  with  your  new  em- 


144  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  IX. 

ployment;  for  although  neither  riches  nor  a  superabun 
dance  of  honor  attend  the  editorial  corps  of  this  country, 
still  I  had  hoped  that  your  salary  would  yield  you  a  gen 
teel  support,  while  the  duties  of  the  office  would  be  so 
light  that  you  could  appropriate  more  than  half  of  the 
time  to  your  favorite  literary  pursuits.  And  I  am  yet 
induced  to  believe  that  after  a  few  weeks  of  experience 
you  will  find  such  to  be  the  fact. 

As  to  the  proposed  publication  of  your  works  in  this 
An  effort  to  city,  it  appears  to  me  there  can  be  little,  if  any, 
pupation  difficulty  in  the  way.  It  is  true,  that  when  you 
went  away,  we  (who  took  an  active  part  in  the 
business)  supposed  that  it  was  your  intention  to  write 
something  new  at  all  events ;  and  we  also  thought  it  was 
understood  that  certain  alterations  would  be  made  in  re 
spect  of  your  ethical,  or  rather,  religious,  opinions.  Such 
alterations  would  add  to  your  fame  and  increase  your 
profits.  Such  was  the  impression  under  which  we  labored ; 
and  many  subscribers  were  obtained  by  myself  and  oth 
ers,  only  by  our  making  a  pledge  upon  both  those  points. 
Having  said  thus  much,  it  is  needless  for  me  to  disguise 
that  when  your  letters  came  to  Wiley,  absolutely  refusing 
to  alter  a  line  or  to  write  anything  new,  we  were  not  a 
little  disappointed  and  somewhat  chagrined.  I  wrote 

a  long  letter  to  L ,  and  requested  him  to  see  you  ; 

but  he  informs  me  that  he  did  not  receive  mine  until  the 
day  after  you  left  Berlin  for  New  Haven.  However,  the 
complement  of  subscribers  was  obtained  very  soon,  and 
Mr.  Wiley  is  at  any  moment  ready  to  proceed  with  the 
work.  You  complain  that  Mr.  Wiley  has  not  written  to 
you  lately.  However,  your  friend  Bronson  told  me  he 
wrote  to  you,  informing  you  of  his  exertions  and  splendid 
success  in  obtaining  subscriptions,  and  that  you  did  not 


TROUBLE    WITH    HIS    PUBLISHER.  145 

answer  him.    By  your  last  letter  to  Mr.  Wiley,  he  (and  so 
did  we)  thought  you  wished  the  work  suspended  Subscriptions 

J  enough  ob- 

for  the  present.  And  if  the  work  was  sus- tamed, 
pended  by  your  request,  he  of  course  did  not  deem  it 
necessary  to  remit  the  forty  dollars.  I  have  seen  Mr. 
Wiley  to-day.  He  has  not  the  money  to  advance,  but  I 
will  see  Cooper  in  a  day  or  two,  and  I  presume  there 
will  be  no  difficulty  about  that. 

By  your  letter  to  me  I  perceive  that  you  are  no  less 
anxious  than  myself  that  the  publication  should  be  worthy 
of  yourself  and  of  your  country.  I  also  am  happy  to 
perceive  that  it  is  your  wish  to  add  something  new.  But 
you  say  you  shall  not  supply  a  line  until  "  delivered  from 
your  present  condition."  Here  I  do  not  exactly  under 
stand  you.  Do  you  mean  that  you  must  be  delivered 
from  your  paper?  I  should  think  not.  One  day  in  a 
week,  well  applied,  is  enough  for  a  paper  of  once  a  week 
But  if  you  mean  that  you  cannot  superintend  the  publi 
cation  while  at  New  Haven,  I  have  only  to  say,  —  come 
here  for  a  few  weeks.  You  can  write  enough  for  the  paper 
here  and  send  on  by  mail,  without  stopping  your  salary  for 
a  moment ;  and  you  shall  be  welcome  to  a  desk  personal 
in  my  office,  or  even  a  small  private  room,  to  a  colone?3  ° 
bed  in  my  little  house,  and  to  a  seat  at  my  hum-  stone* 
ble  table.  One  thing  is  certain,  —  the  work  must  go  on, 
and  the  sooner  the  better,  both  for  your  sake  and  the  sake 
of  your  friends,  who  have  taken  an  interest  in  this  matter. 
I  do  not  know  that  I  have  more  to  say  at  present. 
Mr.  Goodrich,  who  is  now  here,  will  take  this  letter  and 
converse  with  you  more  fully  upon  the  subject. 
Yours,  &c., 

WILLIAM  L.  STONE. 
DK.  JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

7  j 


146  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  IX. 

The  extract  from  Miss  W 's  letter,  already  raen- 

An unlocked- tioned,  to  the  son  of  Mr.  Stone  is  as  follows: 
for  change.  «  percival  was  very  eccentric,  and  I  think  at 
last  deranged.  He  was  more  free  in  communicating 
to  your  mother  than  to  most,  perhaps  to  any  one.  He 
was  subject  to  deep  dejection ;  and  when  he  was  quite 
in  the  depths  he  would  come  to  her,  usually  spending 
several  days  at  the  house  ;  but  he  came  and  went 
suddenly.  This  particular  piece  she  found  instead  of 
him  one  morning  at  the  breakfast-table.  It  was  on 
her  plate,  and  he  was  not  seen  or  heard  of  for  some 
time." 


"MUSINGS  AT   THE  HOUSE   OF  A  FRIEND. 

A  poetical         "  ^n  tne  raidst  of  mv  troubles  and  pain, 
farewell.  I  welcome  this  fav'rite  retreat; 

Unmolested  I  here  can  attain 
A  solitude  quiet  and  sweet. 
No  troublesome  visitor  calls, 

No  modest  inquirers  perplex, 
No  insolent  gazers  appeal, 
No  officious  civilities  vex. 

"  'T  is  no  place  for  refining  or  sighs,  — 

No  murmurings  fall  on  the  ear, 
Duty  teaches  the  blessings  to  prize, 

Shed  for  others'  misfortune  the  tear. 
Love,  Peace,  and  Benevolence  meet 

In  union  delightful  and  rare, 
While  religion  provides  them  a  sweet 

To  mix  in  the  cup  of  their  care. 

"  You  may  call  this  a  fanciful  dream, 

And  say  it  exists  not  in  life ; 
You  may  tell  me  mortality's  stream 
Is  ever  with  concord  at  strife ; 


mas.]       TROUBLE    WITH    HIS    PUBLISHER.  147 

But  God  as  if  willing  to  show 

His  blessing  can  quiet  the  stream, 
Has  here  made  it  peacefully  flow, 

And  experience  has  proved  it  no  dream." 

To  MRS.  STONE,  BY  PERCIVAL. 

I  am  here  compelled  again  to  break  off  the  narrative 
of  Professor  Fowler  in  order  to  resume  my  own. 

Shortly  after  the  poet  returned  from  New  York,  prob 
ably  early  in  February  or  in  the  latter  part  of  January, 
he  wrote  the  letter,  of  which  the  following  is  evidently  a 
copy,  to  one  of  his  confidential  friends  in  that  city,  — 
most  likely  to  Mr.  Yvonnet :  — 

When  I  came  here  I  had  determined  to  write  to  no 
one.  I  found  myself  forced  to  shut  myself  out 

J  A  sad  letter. 

from  society,  or  have  recourse  to  employments 
which  I  had  sworn  not  to  engage  in.  I  chose  the  first ; 
and  I  determined  as  long  as  I  was  under  that  compulsion 
to  share  my  evils  with  no  one,  not  even  in  words,  much 
less  with  those  who  never  knew  any  other  evils  but  the 
ennui  of  redundance.  I  do  not  write  now  to  complain  or 
upbraid.  The  world  may  value  me  as  they  choose,  and  I 
will  value  myself  as  I  choose.  I  will  never  take  anything 
without  rendering  an  equivalent,  neither  will  I  give  any 
thing  without  an  equal  return,  —  not  in  the  same  coin, 
but  in  that  which  can  be  easiest  spared.  Consequently, 
unless  I  am  paid  well,  I  shall  publish  nothing  more.  In 
that  I  am  resolved.  Whatever  I  may  write  shall  never 
see  the  light  until  I  receive  that  without  which  the  high 
est  talents  only  make  me  a  higher  sort  of  beggar. 

But  I  have  written  enough  on  this.  I  know  what  is 
before  me.  I  must  be  wretchedly  poor  or  abandon  liter 
ature.  I  must  have  a  profession  of  the  common  sort,  and 
perhaps  I  may  not  wholly  fail. 


148  JAMES    GATES    PEKCIVAL.          [CHAP.  IX. 

I  have  forwarded  my  selections  to  Mr.  Wiley,  he  hav 
ing  written  me  that  he  was  ready  to  put  the  work  to  press. 
It  is  more  than  two  weeks  since  I  have  heard  from  him. 
May  be  he  will  play  me  the  trick  Mr.  Oilman  did.  I 
am  a  little  desirous  to  know  if  the  thing  is  going  on.  I 
have  written  to  ask  one  favor  of  you,  to  learn  if  the  work 
is  in  press,  and  what  progress  it  is  making,  and  send  me  a 
report.  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  to  you  if  you  will 
do  it.  I  think  you  may  learn  of  Arthur  Bronsou. 

JAMES   G.  PERCIVAL. 

An  opening  in  some  direction,  an  occupation  by  which 
he  could  grain  a  living",  now  became  of  serious 

He  is  driven 

to  edit  a  importance  to  him.  At  this  juncture,  Gray  and 
Hewitt,  the  publishers  of  the  Connecticut  Her 
ald,  a  weekly  journal,  applied  to  him  to  edit  their  paper, 
promising  him,  on  condition  that  he  furnished  two  columns 
of  original  letter-press  on  an  average  weekly,  and  took  the 
oversight  of  the  paper,  that  he  should  have,  as  his  salary 
for  one  year,  one  half  of  all  the  additional  subscriptions 
which  his  reputation  and  ability  as  editor  might  bring 
them  ;  and  in  case  the  subscriptions  were  not  so  numerous, 
and  his  half  did  not  amount  to  or  was  only  one  hundred 
and  twenty -five  dollars  a  quarter,  he  was  to  have  a  salary 
of  five  hundred  dollars  a  year.  This -contract  was  signed 
the  loth  of  February,  1823,  at  New  Haven ;  and  imme 
diately  Percival's  name  appeared  upon  the  heading,  and 
the  names  of  new  subscribers  began  to  pour  in.  A  change 
was  also  observed  in  the  paper.  He  began  his  labors 
with  the  following  editorial,  taken  from  the  Connecticut 
Herald,  of  date  February  18,  1823  :  — 

The  editorial  department  of  the  Herald  will  in  future 
be  conducted  under  my  superintendence. 


BECOMES    AN    EDITOR.  149 

I  have  judged  a  frank  avowal  of  my  views  and  intentions 
more  honorable  to  myself  than  any  effort  at  con-  His  introduc- 
cealment  would  be;  and  I  have  therefore  taken  toryeditorial- 
this  method  of  informing  the  public  what  they  may  expect 
from  my  exertions.  I  have  never  been  enrolled  His  political 
in  the  lists  of  any  party ;  and  in  assuming  the  posl 
character  of  an  editor,  I  do  not  intend  to  associate  myself 
with  any  one  set  of  men  or  opinions.  I  trust  I  shall  al 
ways  be  found  where  there  is  the  greatest  weight  of  evi 
dence,  without  regard  to  considerations  of  party  or 
interest.  It  will  always  be  my  aim  to  promote  the  truly 
laudable  design  of  this  paper,  and  to  make  it  what  it  pro 
fesses  to  be. 

Although  our  country  is  now  in  a  state  of  profound 
peace,  undisturbed  by  foreign  violence  or  civil  commotions, 
yet  the  time  may  not  be  far  distant  when  we  shall  again 
be  called  to  try  the  solidity  of  our  institutions,  and  to 
prove  how  strong  a  shock  they  may  stand  uninjured. 
The  best  security  is  precaution  ;  and  institutions  like  ours, 
which  have  their  foundations  in  the  minds  and  hearts  of 
a  free  people,  can  be  secured  only  by  rendering  those 
minds  enlightened  and  keeping  those  hearts  uncorruptod. 
Nothing  can  contribute  more  to  this  effect  than  a  well- 
regulated  and  unshackled  press,  —  a  press  that  He  believes 
has  no  fear  of  executive  frown  on  the  one  hand,  press. 
nor  any  dread  of  a  corrupt  populace  on  the  other.  To 
preserve  the  freedom  of  this  press  inviolate,'and  to  restrain 
this  freedom  from  licentious  abuse ;  to  present,  in  their 
fairest  light  the  foundations  and  supports  of  our  Consti 
tution  •  to  promote  every  institution  and  aid  every  en 
deavor  which  tends  to  strengthen  and  improve  our 
National  and  State  establishments ;  to  keep  a  steady  bal 
ance  between  the  encroachments  of  a  consolidating  power 


150  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.          [CHAP.  IX. 

in  the  former,  and  the  efforts  of  disunion  in  the  latter,  — 
will  be  my  constant  aim  and  my  sincerest  purpose.  Un 
experienced  as  I  am  in  the  chicanery  of  politics  and  the 
He  does  not  practical  business  of  an  editor,  I  cannot  have  the 
bSufam-  vanity  to  suppose  that  I  shall  always  be  ready 
to  pass  a  correct  judgment  on  the  measures  of 
our  government  or  the  other  events  that  are  passing  in 
the  world,  or  that  I  shall  be  able  on  every  occasion  to 
offer  a  profound  remark.  I  may  not  have  the  good  for 
tune  to  reach  the  character  of  a  politician ;  but  whatever 
remarks  I  may  offer  (and  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  give  my 
opinion,  as  every  citizen  of  a  republic  ought  to  when  he 
has  a  fair  opportunity)  will,  I  trust,  be  suggested  by  no 
other  motive  but  a  conviction  of  their  truth. 

This  paper  has  been  attached  to  certain  men  and 
measures,  and  doubtless  from  honest  motives.  It  will 
still  be  open  as  ever  to  the  friends  of  such  men  and 
measures  ;  and  I  shall  never  object  to  the  insertion  of  any 
article  couched  in  respectful  language,  however  much  it 
may  differ  from  my  opinions.  My  motto  will  be,  "  Hear 
with  both  ears  and  then  judge."  But  I  wish  to  have  it 
distinctly  understood  that  I  shall  not  consider  myself 
bound  by  the  opinions  of  my  predecessors.  A  decent 
regard  will  be  paid  to  whatever  they  may  have  advocated ; 
and  whenever  I  differ  from  them,  it  will  not  be  without 
stated  reasons :  but  sooner  than  be  bound  to  continue  the 
strain  that  has -gone  before  me,  merely  because  it  had  a 
precedence  in  time,  I  would  drop  my  pen  forever. 

But  while  I  endeavor  to  render  this  paper  impartial 
and  catholic  on  every  topic,  I  shall  not  wantonly  attack 
the  established  feelings  and  institutions  of  society.  Noth 
ing  is  truer  than  that  age  brings  disorder  and  infirmity  on 
society  as  well  as  on  individuals ;  but  no  reasonable  man 


BECOMES    AN    EDITOR.  151 

would  think  of  correcting  those  evils  by  extirpating  the 
institutions  around  which  they  have  collected,  unless  the 
disease  has  become  desperate.  But  although  nothing  can 
be  expected  from  sudden  and  wanton  attacks  but  irritation 
on  the  part  of  those  who  are  attached  to  ancient  habits, 
yet  much  may  be  done  by  fair  and  liberal  inquiry,  and 
that  inquiry  shall  not  be  wanting  here.  The  great  princi 
ples  of  morals  arid  government  are  so  long  and  so  well 
established  that  one  had  better  call  in  question  the  repu 
tation  of  Homer  and  Shakespeare  than  doubt  their  sound 
ness.  The  man  who  sets  himself  deliberately  in  array 
against  them  can  only  be  considered  insane.  But  it  is 
not  so  with  every  opinion  which  has  weight  at  a  given 
period.  We  have  too  often  seen  the  public  He  intends  to 

be  a  watchful 

mind  hurried  away  by  extravagances,  not  to  be  guardian  of 

.  J      J  the  public 

convinced   that  there  may  be  such  a  thing  as  mind. 
salutary  doubting ;  and  that  he  is  not  to  be  persecuted, 
but  applauded,  who  dares  to  assert  those  opinions  which 
are  of  constant  duration,  and  to  question  all  others. 

On  one  point  I  may  have  occasion  to  express  an  opin 
ion  on  the  question  of  securing  our  independence  of  the 
arts  and  industry  of  other  nations.  On  a  subject  which 
has  divided  the  opinions  of  the  first  men  of  this  nation  it 
may  be  presumptuous  to  decide ;  and  indeed  it  has  long 
appeared  to  me  a  question  where  one  can  be  better  em 
ployed  in  striking  a  balance  than  in  warmly  espousing 
either  party.  National  independence  ought  undoubtedly 
to  be  our  first  object,  but  I  should  hardly  think  it  pro 
moted  by  stopping  all  interchange  of  commodities  with 
foreign  nations.  We  might,  indeed,  live  within  ourselves  ; 
but  who  would  wish  to  exchange  the  enlightening  and 
stirring  spirit  of  European  commerce  for  the  deadening 
policy  of  China  ?  But  it  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  this 


152  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  IX. 

question  in  a  prospectus,  and  I  will  dismiss  it  to  a  further 
opportunity. 

So  far  as  literature  is  concerned,  it  will  be  my  en- 
He  win  aim  deavor  to  promote  its  pure  and  vigorous  growth 
itS--  in  our  country.  A  newspaper  can  only  indi- 
rectly  promote  the  cause  of  literature.  By  itself 
adopting  a  pure  style,  and  by  justly  praising  what  is  good 
and  censuring  what  is  low  and  barbarous,  it  may  do  some 
thing  at  least  to  rescue  us  from  the  reproaches  of  Euro 
pean  critics. 

Such  are  my  intentions,  and  such  will  be  my  endeavors 
in  conducting  this  paper  ;  and  while  my  great  objects  will 
be  truth  and  utility,  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  use  every 
honorable  means  to  enliven  and  make  it  agreeable. 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

NEW  HAVEN,  February  17,  1823. 

All  his  editorials  *  were  written  in  the  same  manly  and 
Character  of  elevated  tone.  They  are  as  carefully  and 
his  editorials,  thoughtfully  wrought  out  as  those  contributed  to 
our  modern  Spectators  and  Saturday  Reviews.  His 
poetry  also  appeared  frequently  in  its  appropriate  corner. 
*  Appendix  C. 


CHAPTER    X. 

1823. 


LETTERS  TO  MR.  YVONNET.  —  PEi.MiVAt,  REVELATIONS.  —  CLASSI 
CAL  STUDIES.  —  His  POEMS  FINALLY  PUBLISHED  BY  WILEY.  — 
REPRINTED  IN  LONDON. 


IS  correspondence  with  the  theological  student 
in  New  York  was  now  resumed. 


TO  JAMES  LAWRENCE  YVONNET. 

NEW  HAVEN,  April  17,  1823. 

DEAR  SIR,  — 

I  am  no  letter-writer.     I  never  kept  up  a  regular  cor 
respondence  in  my  life  ;  and  one  reason  why  I  Letters  to 
have  not  is  because  my  budget  of  news  would  Mr-Yvonnet- 
have  always  been  merely  a  sorry  detail  of  my  own  beg 
garly  miseries.     You  begin  with  my  new  employment. 
What !     Editor  of  a  newspaper  ?     Has  it  come  to  this  ? 
Must  I  drudge  in   the  office  of  a  country  paper,  with 
political  squibs,  set  myself  up  to  be  spattered  with  the 
filth  of  every  shoemaker  and  butcher  who  can  get  his 
wretched  scrawls  printed  in  pilots,  balances,  etc.  ?     Yes, 
I  must  do  it  or  something  worse,  or  starve.     It  His  view  of 
is  a  case  of  base  necessity.     A  few  approve,  edltorshlP- 
but    most    disapprove.      If   they   disapprove,   let    them 
do  something  to  prevent  the  necessity  of  it.     Heaven 
7* 


154  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  X. 

knows  I  came  to  this  employment  with  every  feeling  of 
desperate  repugnance,  but  I  could  do  no  better.  It  is  not 
an  employment  of  my  choosing,  but  one  to  which  I  have 
been  driven. 

As  for  the  volume  at  Wiley's,  it  shall  never  be  pub- 
ne  refuses  to  lislied  unless  it  is  done  without  and  against  my 

allow  the  vol 
ume  at  wi-    consent.     1  am  serious  on  this  point.     1  have 

ley's  to  be  .  „  .  T  i     -i  • 

published,  been  very  ill  used  in  that  anair.  1  was  led  into 
it  by  the  pressure  of  circumstances.  I  opposed  it  at  first, 
but  I  was  iri  the  power  of  certain  individuals.  I  will  not 
tell  you  what  has  since  followed;  but  I  consider  the  contract 
as  violated  on  the  part  of  Wiley,  and  I  am  determined  that 
nothing  shall  compel  me  to  allow  the  publication  but  the 
strong  arm  of  the  law.  I  am  utterly  opposed  to  any  pub 
lication  by  subscription.  It  is  a  kind  of  begging.  I  can 
edit  a  newspaper,  but  I  cannot  beg.  I  shall  never  realize 
anything  from  my  pen,  unless  I  get  it  from  a  newspaper ; 
my  volumes  are  worse  than  nothing  to  me  ;  they  have 
involved  me  in  debt.  If  I  can  ever  sell  my  copyrights  for 
any  consideration  with  acceptance,  I  shall  do  it ;  but  I 
have  no  hopes  even  of  that.  So  farewell  to  the  Muses. 
They  cannot  live  without  food  and  clothing,  any  better 
than  Faith  and  Hope  can.  We  don't  even  pretend  that 
the  modern  Graces  (I  do  not  mean  the  three  sisters  of 
yore,  but  the  Christian  Graces),  —  we  do  not  pretend 
that  they  can  live  without  salaries.  How  then  can  they 
a^k  such  delicate  creatures  as  the  Muses  to  bide  the  pelt 
ing  of  the  pitiless  storm,  and  yet  keep  up  a  delightful  con 
cert  for  those  who  are  very  willing  to  listen,  but  seem  de 
termined  not  to  pay  the  poor  pipers  ?  Seriously,  I  have 
suffered  not  only  in  heart,  but  in  every  other  way  that  one 
can  suffer  where  bodily  extremities  are  not  endured.  I 
did  rely  somewhat  (though  doubtingly)  on  the  patronage 


LETTERS    TO    MR.    YVONNET.  155 

of  ray  countrymen.  They  have  punished  me  most  cruelly 
for  my  wrong  confidence.  I  will  not  quarrel  with  them. 
I  ask  nothing  of  a  people  who  will  lavish  their  patronage 
on  such  a  vulgar  book  as  the  Pioneers.  They  and  I  are 
well  quit.  They  neglect  me,  and  I  despise  them. 

I  am  the  editor  of  a  country  newspaper.  I  shall  weekly 
insert  some  of  the  finest  things  I  can  write,  as  well  as 
some  articles  on  the  most  indifferent  topics,  in  the  hope  that 
I  may  at  last  shame  them  into  their  duty.  For  though  I 
say  it,  —  who  should  not  say  it  ?  —  where  will  they  go  to 
find  one  who  can  do  that  justice  to  despised  American 
genius  that  I  can  ?  But  I  will  not  do  it,  while  I  am  so 
neglected  —  shall  .  I  say  abused  ?  —  as  I  have  He  feels 
been.  You  write  about  your  classic  enthusiasm  ne£lected-« 
as  if  you  were  in  earnest.  I  have  known  something  of 
it  myself,  but  I  cannot  partake  of  such  emotions  now. 
Everything  is  dead  within  me.  I  sometimes  almost 
exclaim,  with  Coleridge,  "  Would  that  my  earthly  exist 
ence  were  ended  ! "  But  I  must  live  on  and  taste  still 
more  of  the  bitter  apples  that  hang  on  the  down-hill 
side  of  life,  —  all  soot  and  gall. 

I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  I  cannot  rest ;  I  am  eternally 
harassed  by  the  fear  that  darkens  in  the  future.  I  can 
find  no  anchoring  ground.  I  sometimes  wish  intensely 
that  I  could  find  some  fairy  pilot  to  guide  me  on  to  my 
destined  haven,  —  but  they  have  no  existence.  I  have 
been  behind  the  scenes ;  and  although  at  a  distance  they 
are  as  lovely  as  the  soft  blue  mountains,  yet  when  I  ap 
proach,  the  rocks  and  crags  stand  out  bare  and  ragged. 
Is  the  fault  in  the  things  seen  or  in  the  eye  that  sees 
them  ?  I  have  the  gallantry  to  believe  that  I  see  them 
through  a  false  medium,  and  that  they  are  quite  good 
enough  for  those  who  deserve  them. 


156  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  X. 

Now  this  is  all  sad  trifling,  and  so  I  will  take  another 
tack.  I  have  read  the  classics  somewhat,  and  one  of  them 
His  Homeric  w^tn  a  little  like  devotion,  —  Homer.  I  have 
read  his  two  Poems  through  in  the  original,  and 
many  parts  over  and  over.  I  should  like  to  read  him 
again.  But  I  have  suffered  too  much  on  the  great  waters 
to  think  of  taking  a  journey  to  Greece  to  read  the  Iliad 
€7r\  Ku\\iKo\<avr)v.  I  can  imagine  enough,  with  the  aid  of 
Clarke  and  Chevalier,  to  fancy  I  see  the  plain  of  Troy  ex 
tended  before  me,  all  burning  over  with  the  shields  and 
spears  and  helms  of  the  contending  armies.  I  can  walk, 
too,  along  the  shore  of  the  sea  and  ascend  Ida,  the  mother 
of  wild  beasts,  and  the  snow-capt  Olympus.  I  have 
known  too  well  what  it  is  to  be  among  strangers  without 
a  sou  in  my  pocket  to  think  of  starting  on  such  a  pil 
grimage  with  only  one  or  two  hundred  dollars.  I  fear  I 
should  appear  in  Ithica  too  literally  in  the  character  of 
6  iroXvfjLTjTis  'oSuo-o-fus,  —  i.  c.  3,  beggar,  —  and  I  doubt 
whether  I  should  bend  as  well  the  great  bow  which  baf 
fled  all  the  suitors, —  TOV  /3ioi>  e<  Kfpaos  /zfydAoio  c\d<j)oio.  I 
have  given  you  enough  of  bad  Greek,  and  so  I  will  haul 
to  the  wind  again. 

You  may  think,  from  this  part  of  the  letter,  that  I  am 
in  good  spirits.  The  most  agitated  waters  sparkle  most. 
There  is  a  laugh,  too,  that  is  bitter.  Satan  always  has  a 
grin,  you  know,  at  least  so  the  painters  represent  his  infer 
nal  majesty.  Perhaps  they  have  never  seen  him  in  his 
drooping  fits.  They  might  then  give  us  such  a  downward 
turn  to  his  mouth  as  they  now  do  one  upward.  You  have 
doubtless  seen  the  bust  of  Voltaire.  He  looks  to  me  as 
if  he  would  bite  a  tenpenny  nail  in  two,  he  grins  so 
spitefully. 

But  I  perceive  I  have  written  to  the  end  of  my  sheet ; 


LETTERS    TO    MR.    YVONNET.  157 

and  so,  to  continue  my  allegory,  I  must  down  halyards, 
reef  sail,  and  out  anchor.  You  may  perhaps  think  I 
have  taken  lessons  of  Benny  Pump.  I  did  so  till  I  was 
heartily  sick  of  him  and  all  his  crew.  But  I  must  have 
a  care  how  I  talk  of  the  star  of  the  ascendant,  especially 
when  I  am  so  near  my  setting,  or  rather  so  offuscated  by 
its  opaque  scintillations  (see  Fail-field).  But  it  was  a 
villarious  eclipse.  I  have  only  room  to  write, 
Your  humble  servant, 

J.  G.  P. 

In  a  letter  to  another  friend,  dated  New  Haven,  May 
28,  1823,  he  sums  up  bitterly  his  literary  career:  — 

"  I  have  just  been  reading  a  review  of  my  last  volume 
in  the  Christian  Disciple,  and  freely  confess  the  ne  SUms  up 


justice  of  the  criticism.  I  have  written  too  ay 
hastily  and  carelessly,  and  I  knew  it  at  the  ca 
time.  I  have  written  too,  of  late,  more  out  of  spite  than 
with  any  sincerity  ;  but  I  have  done  with  such  feelings 
now.  I  would  have  done  with  my  pen  altogether,  had  I 
not  fastened  myself  for  a  time  to  a  newspaper,  and  were 
I  not  driven  to  it  by  absolute  necessity.  My  wish  is  to 
engage  in  the  practice  of  medicine  ;  but  I  cannot  do  so, 
simply  because  I  have  nothing  to  start  with.  But  it  is 
useless  for  me  to  say  another  word  on  this  subject.  I 
have  brought  myself  into  this  necessity,  and  I  can  see  no 
possible  way  of  extricating  myself. 

"It  is  altogether  impossible  for  me  to  gain  anything 
from  my  poems,  nor  is  it  my  wish  to  do  so  ;  for  I  really 
do  not  wish  things  that  were  thrown  off  so  hastily  to  be 
republished,  however  much  of  unformed  and  unfashioned 
genius  they  may  contain.  In  all  the  mass  of  poetry  that 
I  have  printed,  there  is  not  a  single  article  that  was  not 


158  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CiiAr.  X. 

written  hastily  and  published  without  anything  like  a 
careful  revision,  —  some  of  them  almost  exactly  word  for 
word  as  they  were  first  conceived.  Now  this  is  wrong, 
I  acknowledge,  but  I  am  not  in  a  situation  to  correct  the 
error  now.  It  puts  me  in  a  truly  unpleasant  situation. 
I  have,  unwisely  and  against  your  advice,  though  in  this 
I  have  followed  the  advice  of  grave  and  reverend  seniors, 
relied  somewhat  upon  my  literary  efforts.  The  conse 
quence  is,  I  have  emptied  my  pockets  and  can  get  nothing 
in  return,  so  that  I  have  been  driven  to  put  my  name  to 
a  newspaper  even  for  my  daily  bread." 

In  Mr.  Yvonnet's  reply  of  June  11,  1823,  he  asks: 
"Is  the  report  true  that  you  have  begun  a  large  poem 
Extracts  intended  to  be  of  a  more  regular  and  settled  plot 
MrYvwmeVs  au&  finish  than  any  you  have  already  written  ? 
or  did  that  report  originate  from  the  fact  of 
your  binding  yourself  so  closely  last  fall  to  the  writing 
of  the  second  part  of  Prometheus  ?  "  He  adds  a  word  in 
regard  to  the  painter,  S.  F.  B.  Morse :  "  I  met  an  art 
ist  some  weeks  ago  at  J.  Lawrence's  with  James  Hill- 
house,  named  Morse,  from  New  Haven,  —  know  you 
anything  about  him  ?  I  hear  he  has  a  picture  exhibiting 
in  town,  but  I  have  as  yet  found  no  opportunity  of  visit 
ing  it.  Is  he  a  smart  fellow  ?  In  the  few  words  we 
passed  with  each  other  I  was  pleased  with  him.  At  any 
rate,  his  face  is  good,  —  not  handsome,  but  lighted  up  and 
intellectual.  Have  I  hit  right  ? "  Another  passage 
throws  light  upon  the  difficulty  between  Percival  and  his 
publisher:  "I  am  disposed  to  think,  with  Coleman  in 
the  Connoisseur,  that  booksellers  are  governed  in  their 
ideas  of  things  by  the  authors  whose  works  they  publish. 
Cooper  is  Wiley's  standard,  and  he  puffs  him  off  as  the 
greatest  literary  genius  in  America!"  It  touched  Per- 


jgfjg.]  LETTERS    TO    MR.    YVONNET.  159 

cival's  pride  and  wounded  his  sense  of  right,  that  Wiley, 
who  was  also  the  publisher  of  Cooper's  novels,  should  so 
continually  set  up  the  novelist  as  the  leading  star  in  liter 
ary  circles  to  the  exclusion  of  others,  and  this  was  proba 
bly  one  cause  of  the  difficulty  between  them.  It  seemed 
to  Percival  that  Wiley  depreciated  him.  This  will  explain 
the  bitterness  in  portions  of  the  following  letter :  — 


TO  JAMES  LAWRENCE  YVONNET. 

NEW  HAVEN,  June  14,  1823. 

SIR,— 

I  shall  write  you  a  letter  on  coarse  paper,  because  I 
have  no  better  and  have  nothing  wherewith  to  buy  any 
better.  I  am  absolutely  without  a. cent  in  the  world ;  and, 
what  is  worse,  without  a  single  friend  who  has  the  power 
or  inclination  to  aid  me.  I  have  been  most  scurvily 
treated  by  the  proprietors  of  the  Herald.  They  His  treat- 
failed  about  two  weeks  ago,  and  made  no  pro-  JJ-oprietoraof 
vision  for  my  remuneration.  They  were  then  the  Herald- 
owing  me  at  least  ninety  dollars.  They  would  have  left 
me  in  the  third  class  of  creditors ;  but  a  friend  of  mine, 
being  one  of  the  assignees,  got  me  a  place  in  the  second 
class,  at  the  tail  of  it.  Their  journeymen  and  their  bank 
debts  occupied  the  first  class.  Debtors  have  the  right 
here  to  class  their  creditors  as  they  please,  in  case  of  fail 
ure.  The  consequence  is  that  I  am  robbed  of  my  hard- 
earned  wages,  stripped  of  all  employment,  and  in  debt. 
I  have  stated  my  circumstances  to  two  or  three  who  I 
thought  would  sympathize  with  me.  I  have  only  exposed 
myself  to  mortification,  and  given  them  an  opportunity  to 
triumph.  I  am  now  compelled  to  sell  myself  as  a  weekly 


160  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  X. 

laborer  to  the  assignees  of  the  paper  for  a  mere  living. 
I  am  absolutely  reduced  as  low  as  a  man  of  talents  can 
be.  I  could  swear  and  curse  if  there  was  any  profit  in 
so  doing ;  but  it  is  better  to  bear  patiently  the  dispensa 
tions  of  an  all-wise  and  gracious  Providence.  I  believe 
that  is  the  cant  of  the  day.  My  situation  has  been 
peculiar.  I  have  been  completely  the  slave  of  circum 
stances  ever  since  I  attained  my  majority.  I  have  never 
been  able  to  realize  my  calculations.  Half  the  time  I 
have  been  bound  down  to  inaction  for  the  want  of  means 
of  moving.  When  I  took  my  degree  of  M.  D.  I  would 

He  gives  a     have  begun  the  practice,  but  I  was  in  miser- 
brief  sketch  .  .  1-1 
of  his  life,     able    health    and    worse    spirits,   and   without 

funds.  I  could  get  none  till  eighteen  months  after 
wards,  and  then  I  had  spent  them  in  the  necessary  ex 
penses  of  living  and  in  the  publication  of  my  poems. 
Since  then  I  have  been  continually  embarrassed,  and 
now  I  am  destitute. 

When  I  first  appeared  as  a  poet,  many,  and  those  of 
no  little  consideration,  flattered  me  with  the  prospect  of 
independence.  I  did  not  half  believe  them,  and  yet  I 
believed  them  enough  to  put  some  confidence  in  them. 
My  paper  has  utterly  failed,  and  now  those  very  men 
would  not  lift  a  finger  to  assist  me.  One  of  them  abso 
lutely  advised  me  not  to  think  of  my  profession,  but  to 
rely  on  literature.  That  man  now  would  not  aid  me  one 
cent  to  find  that  place  in  my  profession  which  I  have 
lost  by  listening  to  his  advice.  This  is  not  all.  The 
public  has  really  refused  to  employ  me  in  any  profes 
sion,  because  I  have  assumed  the  character  of  a  poet. 
They  have  determined,  because  I  have  chosen  moon 
shine,  that  I  shall  live  by  moonshine.  This  is  my  brief 
history. 


LETTERS    TO    MR.    YVONNET.  161 

As  to  what  you  say  about  that  snuffy-booby  of  a  "W , 

would  to  God  I  could  forget  it  all  from  beginning  to  end ! 
It  has  been  far  the  most  mortifying  occurrence  in  my  life. 
If  I  ever  meet  you,  I  will  certainly  detail  to  you  the 

whole  affair.     And  that  S ,  he  wanted  me  Allusions 

to  write  comic  addresses,  and  barbers'  squibs,  £  New™1 
and  Bonfanti  advertisements,  and  yet  he   had  York' 
the  impudence  to  style  himself  my  friend  and  patron ! 

Then  there  is  young  B ,  he  set  himself  up  for  my 

Maecenas,  and  as  such  he  very  graciously  demanded  of 
me  to  furnish  forthwith  original  matter  for  an  8vo  vol 
ume  of  four  hundred  pages  !  So  much  for  my  friends  in 
New  York.  That  city  is  completely  Gothamized  in  my 
sight.  I  have  no  inclination  that  way,  nor  indeed  to  any 
other  city. 

I  have  within  me  an  indescribable  longing  for  a  home. 
I  have  never  known  one  from  my  childhood.  jjig  longing 
The  family  was  early  scattered,  and  strangers  for  a  home* 
intruded  into  the  domestic  sanctuary.  I  have  in  my 
imagination  some  most  exalted  conceptions  of  the  happi 
ness  of  a  pure  and  unalloyed  home.  I  believe  much  in 
the  sanctity  of  a  man's  castle,  and  on  that  ground  I  took 
a  neat  little  house  near  New  Haven,  which  I  regret  I  ever 
abandoned.  I  should  become  a  most  devout  worshipper 
of  the  Lares  and  Penates,  if  they  were  admitted  into  our 
creed ;  and  I  am  sometimes  almost  tempted  to  regret  that 
that  beautiful  portion  of  the  Greek  mythology  was  ever 
abandoned.  Although  I  have  indulged  in  some  splenetic 
remarks  on  matrimony,  yet  I  can  conceive  of  nothing 
nearer  heaven  than  a  happy  marriage,  —  one  where  there 
is  a  union  of  equal  and  congenial  minds.  If  I  could  find 
such  a  one,  I  should  really  think  it  the  most  desirable  of 
all  attainments.  But  I  fear  I  should  be  wretchedly  disap- 


162  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  X. 

pointed  in  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a 
thousand,  perhaps  in  a  tenfold  ratio.  In  the  present 
state  of  society,  there  are  so  many  interposing  obstacles, 
that  it  is  enough  to  frighten  a  Hercules  to  attempt  it.  So 
much  money  is  needed  to  support  a  family  in  anything 
like  decent  comfort,  —  so  difficult  is  it  to  find  one  whose 
mind  is  fitly  cultivated,  —  there  is  so  little  good  health, 
and  so  many  fashionable  complaints, —  that  it  really  makes 
the  matrimonial  prospect  darker  to  me  than  Erebus.  In 
my  case  there  are  so  many  peculiar  disqualifications,  that 
I  absolutely  despair.  Tasso  says :  — 

Cogliam  d'  amor  la  rosa:  amiamo  or  quando 
Esser  si  puote  amato  amando,  — 

"  Let  us  gather  the  rose  of  love,  —  let  us  love  now,  when 
loving  we  can  be  loved  in  return."  That  now  is  gone  to 
me  forever. 

There  is  only  one  thing  left  for  me  to  do,  and  that  is 
His  last  re-  to  engage  in  such  a  course  of  common  business 
that  I  can  live  unmolested  in  my  own  castle. 
It  is  absolutely  too  late  for  me  to  think  of  adding  any 
thing  more  to  my  poetical  reputation.  I  have  done  all 
that  I  probably  ever  shall  do.  Nothing  is  finished;  all  has 
been  thrown  off  hastily  and  crudely,  without  any  fore 
thought  or  after  correction.  Perhaps  a  thousand  plans 
have  floated  through  my  brain;  but  I  have  never  allowed 
myself  to  indulge  in  any  one  of  them,  because  I  knew  I 
could  never  depend  upon  the  time  for  its  completion.  I 
have  never  had  anything  beforehand.  I  should  think  my 
self  happy,  if  I  could  get  a  cell  in  Tasso's  mad-house,  for 
then  I  could  depend  on  a  permanent  residence  ;  but  now 
I  change  with  the  moon. 

I  am  just  on  the  eve  of  a  revolution  in  my  affairs.  I 
am  goaded  up  to  that  state  of  irritation  where  a  little  ex- 


LETTERS    TO    MR.    YVONNET.  163 

citement  might  upset  the  balance.  I  am  surrounded  by 
enemies,  ....  men  of  no  mind,  who  would,  if  possible, 
belittle  me  to  their  own  miserable  level.  I  must  fly.  I 
care  not  much  where,  but  somewhere.  There  may  be 
something  dreadfully  repulsive  about  me.  If  we  had 
lived  together,  we  might  have  been  enemies  before  this. 
But  I  fear  I  shall  never  live  with  any  one  longer.  A 
few  days  more,  and  I  trust  I  shall  find  a  place  where  I 
may  take  some  repose.  I  am  determined  to  go  He  is  de- 
again  to  the  home  where  I  was  born.  I  can  {^return  to 
have  a  chamber  there ;  and  although  it  is  now  Berlin' 
no  home  to  me,  yet  it  is  better  than  any  other  place  in 
my  power  of  choosing.  I  abandon  New  Haven.  I  have 
not  a  solitary  friend  here,  not  one  congenial  mind,  not  one 
whom  I  associate  with.  I  have  lately  had  some  intimacy 
with  Morse,  while  taking  a  portrait  of  my  phiz.  Your 
judgment  is  not  far  from  correct.  He  is  a  good  artist, 
and  has  a  mind  much  above  the  common  level. 

As  for  the  Whiting  family,  I  have  not  seen  them  this 
three  months.  I  found  myself  an  unwelcome  Thinks  him- 
visitor,  and  I  left  off  calling  there.  It  is  just  so  iected.g 
with  every  other  plnce  where  I  visited.  They  all  gave 
satisfactory  proofs  that  I  was  not  acceptable,  and  I  have 
therefore  cleared  out.  So  it  goes  with  me.  Where  it 
will  end,  time  can  alone  reveal.  I  hope  you  will  have 
wisdom  enough  to  stick  to  your  profession  and  not  think 
of  living  on  moonshine.  You  will  then  escape  the  miser 
able  fate  of, 

Votre  pauvre  diable, 

J.  G.  P. 

The  feeling  here  expressed  is  more  fully  revealed  in  a 
letter  to  his  mother,  written  two  days  later,  in  which  he 
says  :  — 


164  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  X 

"  It  is  a  fact  that  I  cannot  possibly  find  a  friend  here 
A  letter  to  wno  w'll  ^^  a  n>nger  to  aid  me  in  any  enterprise 
bis  mother.  whatever>  My  books  are  hopeless.  I  shall  re 
alize  nothing  from  them.  I  see  no  alternative  but  to 
bring  back  my  library  to  Berlin,  and  put  it  in  a  place  of 
security  (for  I  will  not  sacrifice  it  at  auction),  and,  if  I 
cannot  stay  there  myself,  set  out  on  a  journey  of  discov 
ery,  or  make  my  way  to  some  better  place  of  residence, 
if  I  possibly  can.  I  must  depend  on  myself,  and  that  too 
without  anything  to  start  with.  But  I  cannot  live  as  I 
have  done  here.  Paying  an  enormous  price  for  boarding, 
and  living  in  the  most  painful  restraint  and  exposed  to 
every  kind  of  insult  and  mortification,  I  have  tried  out 
the  polite  world,  and  find  it  hollow.  I  want  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  I  am  little  fitted  to  associate  with  the  common 
world,  too;  but  they  have  more  sincerity.  If  I  could  live 
with  you,  I  could  so  husband  my  expenses  that  I  have 
little  fear  that  I  could  not  support  myself  with  my  pen, 
without  mixing  with  the  world  at  all.  But  I  cannot  do 
it,  situated  as  I  am  now.  Everything  I  can  earn  goes  to 
feed  some  harpy.  I  have  no  resting-place,  no  place  where 
I  can  use  or  enjoy  my  books  ;  and  I  had  much  rather 
leave  them  in  a  place  of  more  security." 

In  his  reply,  Mr.  Yvonnet  explains  why  the  poet  was 
not  popular  in  New  Haven  :  — 

"  You  speak  of  your  total  destitution  of  friendship  and 
A  gentle  re-  sympathy.  Do  you  know,  my  dear  Doctor,  that 

bukefrom  .   ,  .  .,  .         .        ,  ,  ,, 

Mr.  Yvonnet.  you  are  partial  in  ascribing  it  altogether  to  the 
conduct  of  others  ?  Think  me  not  unfair,  if  I  tell  you 
candidly  that  what  you  complain  of  is,  in  some  degree, 
owing  to  yourself.  There  are  certain  things  in  which 
independence  of  mind  ought  always  to  be  exercised  ;  and 
perhaps  some  of  the  good  people  of  New  Haven  may 


LETTERS    TO    MR.    YVONNET.  165 

have  thought  you  have  carried  this  too  far.  I  am  sure 
that  this  very  thing  (for  which  I  do  not  censure,  but  rather 
applaud  you)  has  been  one  chief  cause  of  the  alienation 
of  those  persons  who  professed  to  be  your  friends.  They 
had  hoped,  perhaps,  that  you  would  yield  to  them  in  some 
degree,  and  no  doubt  it  would  have  been  beneficial  for 
you  if  you  had.  But  then  I  am  not  sorry,  upon  the  whole, 
that  you  held  on  your  usual  course.  They  may  eventu 
ally  learn  a  lesson  from  it,  that  all  men  are  not  alike 
made  to  bend  and  crouch  to  others.  This,  it  may  be,  is 
one  cause  of  the  conduct  of  which  you  complain.  If  you 
could  bring  your  mind  to  be  more  conversant  (I  know  it 
is  a  difficult  task)  with  those  whom  you  cannot  but  esteem 
beneath  you,  it  may  be  of  some  benefit  to  you.  In  fact, 
this  seems  to  be  the  philosophy  of  getting  on  through 
life,  to  yield  (or  seem  to  yield)  a  little  to  others.  As  to 
one  family  of  whom  you  spoke, —  the  Whitings,  —  I  know 
you  are  mistaken  in  your  opinion  about  them.  You  say 
that  you  found  yourself  an  unwelcome  visitor,  and  there 
fore  left  off  calling  upon  them.  I  am  sorry,  very  sorry, 
such  an  impression  has  been  left  on  your  mind.  I  could 
hardly  think  it  of  the  Whitings ;  and  I  candidly  believe, 
Doctor,  that  if  you  would  yourself  be  more  familiar,  you 
would  find  that  no  persons  liked  you  better  than  the 
members  of  that  family." 

And  this  was  true.     He  was  always  welcome,  but  had 
now  become  so  sensitive  to  the  attention  paid  to  He  is  mor- 
him,  that  it  was  difficult  even  for  his  best  friends  tive. 
to  avoid  wrounding  him  in  their  'acts  of  personal  kindness. 
He  took  note  of  every  word,  every  look,  every  act,  and, 
putting  his  own  construction  upon  them,  gave  them  often 
a  meaning  quite  other  than  that  intended.     It  is  easy  to 
see  therefore,  that,  although  the  entire  master  of  himself 


l66  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  X. 

among  his  books  at  home,  he  was  less  than  almost  any 
man  adapted  to  make  his  way  in  social  circles. 

In  the  following  letter  he  gives  a  vivid  account  of  him 
self  at  this  time. 


TO  JAMES  LAWRENCE  YVONNET. 

NEW  HAVEN,  July  18, 1823. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

I  received  your  letter  this  morning,  and  as  I  happen  to 
have  leisure  I  will  send  you  an  answer.  Indeed,  my 
time  is  all  leisure.  For  I  have  no  employment  and  no 

He  is  an  au-  funds.     I  live  in  expectation  of .     I   have 

Just  made  a  contract  with  a  bookseller,  who,  I 
think,  will  do  me  better  justice  than  the  Knight 
of  the  Pinch.  But  my  success  is  notable,  inasmuch  as  it 
is  wonderfully  small.  I  receive  twenty  per  cent  of  the 
edition  in  copies,  which  I  must  sell  myself  as  well  as  I 
can.  I  made  the  contract  with  him,  because  I  owed  him 
one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  the  last  part  of  Prome 
theus.  Perhaps  sixty  or  seventy  copies  of  that  book 
have  been  sold,  though  I  doubt  whether  fifty  have  been 
retailed.  I  have  succeeded  in  getting  rid  of  that  debt  by 
almost  giving  the  bookseller  an  edition,  and  besides  en 
gaging  to  write  a  third  part,  and  give  it  to  him  for  noth 
ing.  He  had  a  hand  over  me,  and  I  concluded  it  was 
best  to  do  anything  I  could  to  escape  the  blow  which  he 
could  give  me.  I  have'  now  cleared  myself  from  the 
more  immediate  consequences  of  my  authorship,  not 
however  from  the  collateral  consequences  ;  for  by  making 
my  calculations  on  better  success,  I  have  involved  myself 
somewhat  for  necessaries.  I  am  here  without  employ- 


^fU  LETTERS    TO    MR.    YVONNET.  167 

ment  or  the  prospect  of  any.     I  have  not  wherewith  to 
supply  even  the  wants  of  nature,  much  less  any 

"  J  J    His  poverty. 

of  those  means  which  are  absolutely  necessary 
to  enable  me  to  put  my  foot  in  the  stirrup.  I  have  no 
one  to  go  to  for  the  means.  I  can  only  sit  still  and  watch 
for  the  tide's  rising.  They  say  it  is  darkest  just  before 
day.  I  hope  it  will  be  dawn  soon  with  me  then,  for  it  is 
dark  enough  now. 

I  have  some  apologies  to  make  for  my  last  letter.  It 
was  written  under  high  excitement.  I  am  cooler  now, 
and  I  will  write  more  rationally  on  this  sheet.  But  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  well  determined  to  leave  New 
Haven,  —  not  for  my  native  place,  my  relations  will 
not  admit  me  there.  I  have  written  them  about  it  twice 
and  urged  a  reply,  but  I  can  get  no  answer.  I  Reasons  why 
have  nothing  to  go  there  with,  so  that  I  may  see  Jctfre^o  "ot 
them  face  to  face  about  it.  I  know,  too,  they  Berlm- 
are  not  the  best  disposed  towards  me.  I  have  been  un 
fortunate  in  the  affair  of  cash,  and  you  know  there  are 
some  who  will  welcome  nothing  but  cash.  Not  that  it  is 
so  with  them.  But  they  do  not  wish  to  have  me  go 
empty  to  my  native  place,  because  it  will  afford  cause  of 
triumph  to  their  neighbors.  They  have  not  firmness 
enough  to  bear  that,  and  therefore  they  had  rather  I 
should  seek  another  asylum.  I  shall  think,  then,  no  more 
of  my  native  place.  But  I  will  go  to  some  obscure  spot 
or  other.  I  cannot  and  will  not  live  in  a  place  where  I 
am  excluded  from  all  society,  and  am  like  a  desperate 
man.  There  was  one  place  where  I  once  was  welcomed, 
and  warmly  so,  at  least  apparently.  I  can  gain  no  admit 
tance  there  now.  I  find  I  can  live  alone.  I  can  spend  a 
whole  day  with  my  books.  But  when  weary  evening 
comes,  I  feel  the  want  of  relaxation,  and  that,  too,  without 


168  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  X. 

sinking  into  mere  animal  stupor  or  unprofitable  musing. 
His  solitary  I  l°ve  conversation  of  my  cast.  I  am  as 
enamored  of  it  as  Madame  De  Stael.  But 
I  have  it  not.  I  had  one  with  whom  I  could  go  on, 
one  who  could  keep  up  with  me,  and  one  who  could 
lead  me  into  pleasant  paths  too,  —  but  I  have  none  such 
now.  1  am  so  much  a  solitaire,  that  if  you  should  call 
upon  me  now,  I  should,  for  the  simple  pleasure  of  wag 
ging  my  tongue,  tire  you  out  with  some  dry,  wearisome 
lecture  of  an  hour  or  so  ;  perhaps  you  would  call  it 
prating  pedantry. 

I  will  tell  you  just  how  it  is.     Now  that  I  am  poor  and 
His  literary   unfortunate,  they  call  me  egotist,  and  pedant, 

reputation.     &R^  what   no^  and   affect  to  treat  me  with  gtud_ 

ied  neglect.  It  was  not  so  a  year  since.  I  was  rising 
then.  I  culminated  too  soon,  and  now  my  chariot  is 
wheeling  off  to  the  westward. 

Vf.fj.os  8'  'He'Xios1  p.fTevicro'eTO  ftovXvTOvde* 

as  Homer  says,  and  very  graphically  ;  for  it  will  be  the 
hour  of  unyoking  my  oxen  very  soon.  I  shall  in  a  little 
while  have  no  more,  poetical  acres  to  plough,  and  the 
poor  devils  who  have  drawn  the  vehicle  and  turned  over 
the  clods,  i.  e.  the  printers,  will  be  let  loose  to  wander 
away  to  the  cool  river,  — 

fls  eimerav  vdtop, 

i.  e.  they  will  have  their  full  pay  and  get  pasture  enough 
for  their  labor  ;  while  I  shall  go  home  with  weary  knees 
to  my  supperless  cottage  and  feast  on  moonshine.  There 
will  be  one  good  thing  about  it,  i.  e.  I  shall  turn  up  no 
more  new  furrows,  or  write  no  more  new  stuff,  to  draw 
after  me  a  swarm  of  jackdaws  and  rooks,  —  i.  e.  ladies  and 
*  Iliad,  xvi,  779. 


PERSONAL    REVELATIONS.  169 

critics,  in  search  of  worms  and  grubs,  i.  e.  beauties  and 
blemishes,  —  and  sha'n't  be  forced  to  hoar  them  chatter 
over  the  one  or  croak  over  the  other.  How  do  you  like 
me  in  a  figure,  as  the  Methodists  say  ?  I  '11  tell  you 
what,  as  we  Yankees  say,  I  have  a  notion  to  be-  ms  future 
come  Lakeified,  that  is,  I  am  seriously  inclined  P111^0863- 
to  settle  on  the  bank  of  some  one  of  our  fine  lakes,  where 
I  can  have  land  and  water  around  me,  and  where  I  shall 
find  nothing  blue  on  the  ground  story  ;  i.  e.  I  have  an  incli 
nation  to  put  on  my  saddle-bags  and  mount  my  horse,  and 
go  about  to  hold  consultations  with  old  grannies  about  one 
sovereign  thing  or  another,  such  as  slippery-elm  bark  or 
skull-cap.  They  call  me  Doctor ;  I  must  become  a  doctor 
in  deed  and  in  truth.  That  is  my  intention,  and  I  shall 
take  the  country.  My  father  was  a  country  doctor,  and 
I  will  follow  his  example.  They  have  proposed  to  me  to 
bind  myself  to  the  Herald  on  a  new  foundation.  I  have 
no  notion  of  making  myself  a  slave  to  row  about  the  gal 
ley  of  some  big  man  who  has  a  purse,  and  wants  some 
one  to  stand  in  the  gap  between  him  and  the  public. 
You  see  I  make  metaphors  as  well  as  Castlereagh,  when 
he  talked  of  a  weeping  crocodile  sticking  his  hand  in 
one's  pocket.  I  am  determined  to  have  nothing  more  to 
do  with  newspapers.  Your  extract  from  Godwin  pleases 
me  well.*  It  is  misery  to  depend  on  uncertain  employ 
ments.  I  have  done  so  too  long.  I  must  engage  in  some 
active  employment.  My  health  requires  an  active  em 
ployment.  I  must  take  my  profession  and  think  of 
nothing  higher  than  the  young  licentiate  who  has  passed 

*  It  was  this, "  That  the  intellect  which  depends  on  conversation  for 
nutriment  may  be  compared  to  the  man  who  should  prefer  the  preca 
rious  existence  of  a  beggar  to  the  possession  of  a  regular  and  sub 
stantial  income." 

8 


170  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  X. 

from  his  plough  to  his  Cheselden.  and  then,  after  a  little 
reading  and  a  few  lectures,  —  to  the  bedside.  I  must  be 
humble.  Wisdom  dwells  with  prudence,  and  prudence 
with  humility.  After  all,  it  will  be  pleasant  to  ride 
among  the  hills  and  mountains,  and  feel  conscious  that 
what  I  get  is  my  own.  It  will  be  better  than  to  live  on 
expectation,  and  find  disappointment  at  the  end  of  it. 
The  worst  is,  I  have  nothing  to  start  with.  But  I  must 
try 


as  Sappho  said  about  love. 

I  have  heard  of  Gotham,*  but  have  not  seen  it.  I  am 
glad  they  have  rubbed  up  Cooper.  Perhaps  you  don't 
feel  about  him  as  I  do.  I  can  consider  him  nothing  more 
than  a  literary  parasitic  animal  (naturalists  give  that 
title  to  the  creeping  things  that  inhabit  the  outside  of  our 
craniums).  What  a  thing  that  Pioneers  is,  with  its  most 
His  opinion  exalted  character  making  Virginia  fence  on  his 

of  Cooper's 

Pioneers.  way  home  from  a  bush  tavern,  after  attending 
divine  service  on  Christmas  Eve,  gloriously  in  the  spirit, 
or  rather  the  spirit  in  him  ;  and  that  Ben  Pump,  soberly 
measuring  out  whole  fathoms  of  sea-slang,  and  old 
Jamaica  by  the  gallon  ;  and  Remarkable,  with  her  sweet 
tooth,  and  old  Natty  Bum  !  Ho  !  and  [behold]  Higli- 
Dutchers  and  Low-Dutchers  and  Mounsheers  and  Mo- 
hegans  and  Bay  State,  and  Varmounters  all  to  show 
what  a  great  linguist  he  was.  I  have  forgot  Cuffee,  pop 
up  gobbler.  Now  all  this  is  wretched,  not  a  whit  above 

*  A  volume,  "  Gotham  and  the  Gothamites,  —  a  Medley,"  in  which 
the  publishers,  authors,  and  wits  of  New  York  in  those  days  were 
severely  and  personally  satirized.  It  characterized  Wiley  as  "the 
very  Dennis  of  Wall  Street";  Colonel  Stone  as  "  the  factious  Master 
Stone  "  ;  and  made  the  most  of  Cooper's  weakest  point,  —  his  vanity. 


PERSONAL    REVELATIONS.  171 


JEt.  '28.] 


Coleman's  broad  grins  and  [  .  .  .  ]  pokers.  It  might 
do  well  enough  to  amuse  the  select  society  of  a  barber's 
shop  or  a  porter-house.  But  to  have  the  author  step  for 
ward  on  such  stilts  and  claim  to  be  the  lion  of  our  national 
literature,  and  fall  to  roaring  himself  and  set  all  his  jack 
als  howling  (S ,  C ,  &  Co.)  to  put  better  folks 

out  of  countenance,  —  why,  it  is  pitiful,  't  is  wondrous 
pitiful,  at  least  for  the  country  that  not  only  suffers  it,  but 
encourages  it. 

As  for  myself,  I  say  nothing.  I  have  written  what  I 
have  written.  Let  others  judge.  They  call  me  vain. 
Perhaps  I  have  been  so.  If  so,  I  will  correct  myself. 
But  it  was  merely  the  innocent  vanity  of  ex-  He  explains 

...          .  T  his  apparent 

miaration.  It  was  but  the  natural  conse-  egotism. 
quence  of  rising  from  the  lowest  state  of  depression,  and 
finding  myself  on  an  eminence  where  I  was  looked  at  by 
my  whole  country,  and  seen  too  across  the  Atlantic,  even 
from  proud  Augusta,  if  not  Edina.  It  is  a  wonder  that 
I  was  not  thrown  into  a  vertigo  of  vanity.  As  it  is,  it 
has  cost  me  my  most  valued  friend. 

I  will  tell  you  one  thing  sub  rosa.  Morse's  picture  of 
Congress  Hall,  (have  you  seen  it  ?  if  not  it  is  too  late 
now,)  that  picture  has  cost  him  one  hundred  The  artist 
and  ten  dollars  to  exhibit  it  in  New  York.  Tell  Morse> 
it  not  in  Gath !  He  labored  at  it  eighteen  months,  and 
spent  many  hundred  dollars  in  its  execution  ;  and  now  he 
has  to  pay  the  public  for  looking  at  it,  "  largess,  largess." 
Allston  says  it  is  a  masterpiece  of  coloring  and  perspec 
tive.  Who  would  write  or  paint  any  good  thing  for  such 
a  fashionable  vulgar  as  ours  ?  For  my  part,  I  am  tired 
of  patting  the  dogs.  I  will  now  turn  to  kicking  them. 
I  believe  they  will  use  me  better  then.  If  some  sign- 
painter  had  only  painted  Nettleton  preaching  up  an 


172  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.          [CHAP.  X. 

awakening,  and  sent  it  about  the  country,  he  would  have 
filled  his  pockets  with  it,  and  so  would  Morse  too.  If  I, 
instead  of  writing  my  present  poetry,  had  written  a  heavy 
blank-  verse  melody  on  justification  by  faith  alone  (like 
Wilcox's  Age  of  Benevolence,  which  went  off  like  shot), 
or  if  I  had  written  a  long,  dirty,  draggling  tale,  I  should 
have  made  my  fortune.  I  should  not  have  been  as  I  am 
now.  a  good  deal  worse  than  nothing.  But  I  must  stop 
these  complaints,  and  be  a  man.  Let  me  only  mount  my 
Rosinante,  and  then  Richard  's  himself  again. 

I  have  droned  on  through  a  poor,  punning,  complaining 
letter,  as  usual.  Since  I  cannot  correct  my  evils,  I  can 
make  them  light  by  punning  on  them.  But  it  is  time 
for  me  to  stop.  My  sheet  is  done  and  I  am  tired. 
So,  sir, 

I  remain  as  usual  yours, 

J.  G.  P. 

P.  S.  —  I  have  a  little  more  to  say.  Did  you  ever 
study  German  ?  I  have  been  dipping  into  it,  and  a 
His  sketch  strange  language  it  is  in  sound  and  construc- 

of  the  German 

language,      tion,  —  sucking  in  its  gutturals  like  a  whirlpool, 


,  —  hissing  out  its  sibilants  like  a  goose,  eesh,  —  and 
rolling  round  its  oblique  diphthongs  like  a  sailor  his  quid, 
foieer.  Then  there  are  its  compounds,  umgangs-sprache 
round-about-going  language,  for  the  general  language  of 
polite  conversation,  as  wahrscheinlichkzit,  i.  e.  truth-seem- 
like-ness  for  probability.  In  its  order,  I  will  give  a  speci 
men  exactly  translated:  "So  is  itself  (even)  more  than 
possible  (may-like)  ;  probable  it  is  that  to  the  almost  round 
about  by  the  sea  encircled  (around-floated)  America,  also 
by  this  way,  from  some  one  side,  some  one  time  new-comers 
(oii-comelings)  conveyed  (to  be  carried)  been  have  may." 


CLASSICAL    STUDIES.  173 

Cart  before  the  horse  complete.     But  I  find  this  employ 
ment  so  interesting  that  I  have  given  it  twelve 


hours   a   day.      I   have    done    another   thing,  theus  of 

J  .ffischylus  in 

Week  before  last  I  translated,  in  six  days,  the  six  days. 
Prometheus    Vinctus  of  JEschylus.      I  invented   a   new 
blank  measure  for  the  chorus,  of  which  I  give  you  a  line 
or  two  :  — 

"  Scarce  could  we  gain  our  sire's  consent, 
But  gained  ;  the  rapid-rolling  wind 
Bore  us  along  the  stream  of  air." 

I  shall  not  publish  it,  because  it  will  be  unpopular.  I 
have  rolled  it  into  a  volumen,  and  it  sleeps  now  and  for 
ever  in  the  dark. 

Elsewhere  he  has  written:  "In  the  summer  of  1823, 
about  the  time  when  engaged  upon  the  Prome-  Further  ac- 
theus,  and  while  reading  Voss's  hexameter  trans-  °° 
lation,  I  amused  myself  with  rendering  select  passages 
from  Homer  in  English  hexameters,  not  without  some 
self-gratification,  and  with,  at  the  time,  the  encouraging 
approbation  of  Professor  Kingsley."  His  translation  of 
Prometheus  was  the  only  literary  work  for  which,  during 
his  last  sickness,  he  manifested  any  anxiety.  He  seemed 
willing  to  rest  his  reputation  as  a  poet  on  that  alone.  It 
is  yet  in  manuscript  ;  but  as  a  transfusion  of  the  spirit  and 
power  of  the  original  into  English  verse,  it  has  no  supe 
rior  in  English  literature.  Many  have  tried  their  hand 
upon  it,  but  this  is  the  impassioned  work  of  one  who  had 
in  himself  many  of  the  traits  which  belong  to  the  myth 
ical  Prometheus.  In  1830  he  wrote  to  a  friend  concern 
ing  it  in  these  words  :  "  In  July,  1823,  1  wrote  out  a  rough 
sketch  of  the  Prometheus  Bound  of  ^Eschylus.  I  wrote 
down  my  version  as  fast  as  I  proceeded  in  the  interpreta 
tion,  and  then  put  it  by  unreviewed,  in  scriniis,  where  it 


174  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.          [CHAP.  X. 

has  remained  until  now  ;  consequently  beyond  the  legiti 
mate  period  of  nine  years.  I  did  not  aim  to  give  a 
refined  and  embellished  translation,  nor  one  closely  literal, 
but  by  a  somewhat  free,  yet  faithful,  and  what  seemed  to 
me  no  unfitting  paraphrase,  to  give  plainly  and  boldly  the 
Titanic  force  and  majesty  of  the  original.  I  rendered 
the  whole  in  blank  verse  ;  the  dialogue  in  our  decasyl 
labic  heroics,  and  the  choral  measures  generally  in  octo 
syllabics." 

While  engaged,  for  the  lack  of  any  more  profitable 
A  letter  to  his  employment,  in  these  delightful  studies,  he  a^ain 

mother  about  ' 

a  home.  addressed  his  mother  a  letter,  dated  July  17, 
1823,  in  which  he  says :  "  I  have  been  for  several  days 
expecting  an  ans\ver  to  my  letters.  I  cannot  conceive 
why  I  have  none,  unless  because  you  are  determined  not 
to  write  me.  I  will  give  you  no  further  trouble  than  to 
read  my  letters,  for  I  shall  pay  the  postage  of  all  I  send. 
I  have  mentioned  my  wish  to  station  myself  somewhere 
in  a  secure  and  little-expensive  situation,  so  that  I  might 
give  myself  to  the  improvement  of  my  peculiar  talents, 
to  two  of  my  friends,  and  they  have  approved  it.  They 
think  I  might,  by  adopting  a  more  popular  kind  of  writing, 
and  by  employing  my  duller  hours  in  the  simple  labors 
of  compiling  something  useful  and  salable,  realize  a 
better  reward  than  I  have  yet  done.  But  to  do  so,  I 
must  be  in  a  different  place  from  what  I  am  here.  I 
cannot  live  among  people  who  have  thrown  me  off  from 
their  friendship,  and  that  apparently  because  I  am  unfor 
tunate." 

On  the  31st  of  July  he  wrote  to  his  friend  Bronson, 
stating  the  reasons  why  he  had  given  up  the  republication 
of  his  poems  by  Wiley  six  months  ago.  They  were 
these:  because  Wiley  suggested  (it  was  not  mentioned 


jS.]         POEMS    PUBLISHED    BY    WILEY.  175 

in  the  contract)  that  he  should  add,  as  a  matter  of  expe 
diency,  some  original  poetry,  and  because  Wiley  expected 
that  he  would  stay  in  town  during  the  preparation  for 
the  press,  which,  as  we  have  seen,  Percival  was  too  much 
annoyed  to  do.  But  now,  through  the  kindness  of  Colonel 
Stone,  these  obstacles  were  removed.  Wiley  The  obstacles 
was  disposed  to  do  all  he  could  to  complete  the 
work ;  and  Percival,  at  the  request  of  Arthur  ofU 
Bronson,  to  which  was  added  that  of  the  pub- 
lisher  and  of  Colonel  Stone,  took  his  manuscripts  and 
went  to  New  York  to  superintend  the  publication  of  the 
volume.  He  carried  with  him  several  new  poems  of 
uncommon  merit,  among  which  were  Mental  Beauty, 
Mental  Harmony,  and  Night  Watching.  Both  poet 
and  publisher  now  labored  harmoniously  to  bring  the 
publication  to  a  close.  In  September  it  was  so  far  ad 
vanced  as  to  make  his  personal  superintendence  no  longer 
necessary.  He  then  returned  to  New  Haven,  He  finally 
where  he  remained  until  the  book  was  pub-  rSence  k? 
lished,  in  November,  1823  ;  when  he  took  up  Berliri- 
his  residence  in  Berlin,  carrying  with  him  his  large 
and  valuable  library. 

The  promise  to  write  a  third  part  to  Prometheus  was 
never  executed.  It  was  promised  to  make  up  to  Mr. 
Maltby  the  loss  which  he  incurred  in  publishing  the 
earlier  volumes  of  his  poetry  ;  and  when  he  re-  His  last  let- 
turned  from  New  York,  he  was  compelled  to  Yvounet.' 
the  settlement  alluded  to  in  the  following  letter, —  the 
last  of  the  Yvonnet  correspondence  :  — 


176  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.          [CHAP.  X. 

TO  JAMES  LAWRENCE  YVONNET. 

NEW  HAVEN,  September  23,  1823. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

Excuse  me  a  short  letter  for  this  once.  I  am  overhead 
in  business  now.  I  have  a  controversy  with  the  book 
seller  Maltby,  which  is  to  go  before  arbitrators.  I  have 
not  time  to  give  you  the  particulars  now,  but  he  has 
borne  very  hard  upon  me.  I  write  this  letter  simply  to 
ask  you  to  procure  me  all  the  subscribers  you  can  for  the 
edition  of  Wiley  (now  publishing,  as  our  difficulties  have 
been  arranged),  and  to  forward  the  names  to  me  by  the 
first  opportunity.  New  Haven  has  really  been  searched 
for  subscribers,  and  about  sixty  copies  have  been  taken 
here.  I  wish  you  would  do  as  well  in  Troy.  I  met,  this 
summer,  J.  Yates  of  Schenectady,  your  classmate.  He 
took  a  subscription  paper,  and  I  directed  him  to  forward 
the  names  to  Wiley.  If  you  can  see  him  or  write  to 
him,  I  wish  you  to  beg  him  for  my  sake  to  forward  them 
to  me.  I  am  particular  in  this  request,  both  of  you  and 
him.  Excuse  the  boldness  of  my  mendacity,  but  you 
know  there  is  one  voice  that  cannot  be  resisted,  —  dura 
paupertas. 

Yours, 

J.   G.   PERCIVAL. 

N.  B.  —  I  will  write  you  fully  when  I  get  out  of  these 
troubled  waters. 

Just  before  the  book  was  issued  from  the  press,  Mr. 
« Peter  Par-  S.  G.  Goodrich,  who  was  intending  to  spend 

ley "  takes  .  .    ° 

the  proof-      some  time  in  Europe,  took  with  him  the  proof- 
sheets  tO  i  1  •          •  •         T»         1          1      1  •  • 

London.        sheets  for  repubhcation  m  England,  having  m 
mind  as  a  publisher  the  famous  John  Murray,  "  who," 


J5"5g.]  REPRINTED    IN    LONDON.  177 

so  Wiley  wrote  to  Percival,  "  appears  to  be  a  great  ad 
mirer  of  your  poems."  The  Canada,  in  which  he  sailed, 
had  hardly  weighed  her  anchor,  when  the  Commercial 
Advertiser  came  out  with  the  lines,  "To  the  Canada 
on  going  to  Sea,"  signed  P.,  beginning, 

"  The  gallant  ship  is  out  at  sea, 
Proudly  o'er  the  water  going." 

Mr.  Littell,  the  venerable  editor  of  the  Living  Age,  who 
had  only  a  short  time  before  offered  to  Percival  the  editor 
ship  of  his  Museum,  also  volunteered  to  assist  him  in  the 
republication  of  his  volume  in  England.  Mr.  Goodrich 
was  not,  however,  successful  in  inducing  Murray  to  take 
it.  It  was  finally  published  by  John  Miller ;  but  the  vol 
ume  had  no  circulation,  and  the  publication  was  attended 
with  a  loss  to  the  publisher  of  one  hundred  pounds  ster 
ling;  and  this,  Mr.  Miller  adds,  "  In  spite  ofHispoem8 
every  exertion  which  has  been  used  to  get  them  are  uuread- 
into  circulation."  At  the  end  of  three  years  he  writes, 
"  I  have  nearly  the  whole  impression  on  hand."  The 
Monthly  Review  was  the  only  periodical  which  Criticism  of 

the  Monthly 

noticed  the  poems  at  all,  and  this  only  slight-  Review, 
ingly,  in  such  terms  as  these :  "  Though  not  of  equal  ex 
cellence  with  the  nobler  strains  of  Bryant,  or  some  of 
those  of  Bancroft,  ....  they  yet  boast  a  degree  of 
merit  far  superior  to  that  of  any  entire  pieces  hitherto 
published  on  this  [American]  side  of  the  water."  It 
said :  "  The  Doctor's  poetry,  though  elevated  with  occa 
sional  bursts  of  true  genius  and  passion,  presents  some  of 
the  most  startling  and  terrific  pictures  of  a  powerful  but 
fevered  imagination,  of  contempt  and  hatred  of  mankind, 
of  scepticism,  of  suicide,  and  of '  the  darkest  painter's  hor 
rors  '  that  we  recollect  ever  to  have  contemplated."  It 

8*  L 


178  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.          [CHAP.  X. 

pronounced  his  Prometheus  "a  poem  abounding  in 
splendid  and  fanciful  passages."  "  A  few  other  portions 
of  the  same  poem,  particularly  in  its  descriptive  parts, 
display  much  power  and  beauty :  such  as  the  delineation 
of  an  approaching  tempest  among  the  hills,  which,  for 
pervading  strength  and  vividness,  is  almost  worthy  of  the 
departed  fire  of  Byron."  It  speaks  of  other  poems 
"  which,  though  not  perfect  in  their  kind,  breathe  an  in 
tense  feeling  and  a  mournful  melody  of  soul  that  charac 
terize  only  the  true  poet." 

The  publisher  was  now  turned  aside  from  proper  at 
tention  to  the  volume  by  bankruptcy.  A  good  deal  of 
confusion  arose ;  the  subscribers  were  neglected ;  the 
books  were  delivered  irregularly ;  and  the  actual  income 
to  Percival  was  small.  The  subscribers  were  mostly  his 
acquaintances  and  friends ;  and  beyond  these  almost  no 
effort  was  made  by  the  publisher  to  extend  the  sale  of 
the  book. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

1823-1825. 

PROFESSOR  FOWLER'S  LETTER.  —  HE  ASSISTS  HIM  TO  A  PROFESSOR 
SHIP  AT  WEST  POINT.  —  Is  DISAPPOINTED  AND  RESIGNS.  —  STA 
TIONED  AS  UNITED  STATES  SURGEON  IN  BOSTON.  —  RETURNS  TO 
LITERATURE.  —  His  ACQUAINTANCE  WITH  DR.  HAYWARD. 

AGAIN  employ  for  a  few  pages  the  sketches 
furnished  by  Professor  Fowler,  who  knew 
Percival  more  intimately  than  any  one  else 
at  this  time  :  — 

When  I  was  about  to  leave  New  Haven   in    1823, 
with  the  expectation  of  spending  a  few  months  Professor 

Fowler's 

in  Washington,  Dr.  Percival  requested  me  to  sketch. 
make  some  efforts  to  obtain  for  him  a  situation  under 
the  general  government.  This  I  assured  him  I  would 
cheerfully  do.  Accordingly  one  day,  after  dining  with  Mr. 
Calhoun,  in  company  with  Mr.  McDuffie,  I  broached  the 
subject  to  them  both.  Mr.  Calhoun  very  promptly  said, 
"  Would  Dr.  Percival  like  the  position  of  Secretary  of 
Legation  ?  I  think  something  can  be  found  for  him  that 
will  be  satisfactory."  It  so  happened  that  Dr.  Lovell,  the 
Surgeon-General,  was  almost  a  daily  visitor,  in  a  social 
way,  at  Mr.  Hand's,  my  brother,  with  whom  I  was  stay 
ing.  He  became  interested  in  the  case  of  Dr.  Percival, 
and  proposed  that  he  should  accept  the  office  of  surgeon 
in  the  army  of  the  United  States,  with  a  view  of  acting 


180  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XI. 

as  Professor  of  Chemistry  at  West  Point.  Dr.  Cutbush, 
steps  toward  the  incumbent  at  West  Point,  having  died  just 
after  this,  Mr.  Calhoun  and  Dr.  Lovell  both  as 


sured  me  that  Dr.  Percival  should  have  the  ap 
pointment,  provided  we  obtained  the  recommendation  of 
certain  gentlemen  in  Connecticut,  among  whom  were 
mentioned  Governor  Wolcott  of  Litchfield,  and  the  Hon 
orable  H.  W.  Edwards  of  New  Haven.  Several  let 
ters  passed  between  me  and  Dr.  Percival  on  the  subject 
of  the  appointment,  in  which  he  became  greatly  interested. 
The  recommendations  were  obtained  and  forwarded.  The 
following  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  which  I  addressed  to 
Professor  Dr.  Percival,  dated  Washington,  November  25, 
writes'to  1823  :  "  I  am  led  to  believe  that  it  would  not 
val>  be  difficult  to  obtain  a  situation  that  would  be 
eligible,  either  here  or  at  West  Point.  Mr.  Calhoun, 
Secretary  of  War,  will  do  what  he  can  for  you,  as  will 
the  Surgeon-General,  Dr.  Lovell.  I  believe  that  if  you 
or  your  friends  make  application  for  you,  you  will  be  suc 
cessful.  Will  you  write  to  me  soon  on  the  subject  ?  I 
see  both  of  those  gentlemen  frequently,  and  to-morrow 
they  will  converse  together  on  the  subject.  I  wish  your 
Poems  were  here.  Do  let  me  know  what  you  are  doing 
and  what  are  your  literary  schemes,  etc.,  etc.  In  what 
state  of  forwardness  is  your  octavo  volume  ?  " 
In  reply  I  received  the  following  letter  :  — 


TO  WILLIAM  C.  FOWLER. 

BERLIN,  December  8,  1823. 
DEAR  SIR, — 

I  received  your  letter,  dated  Washington,  November 
25, 1823,  Saturday  evening.    I  am  now  here  in  retirement. 


'&]      PROFESSORSHIP    AT    WEST    POINT.        181 


You  know  very  well  my  difficulties  and  embarrassments 
last  summer  in  New  Haven.    By  my  own  exer- 

His  reply. 

tion  and  that  of  my  friends  I  have  escaped  from 
them,  and  am  now  even  with  the  world.  After  seeing  my 
octavo  volume  fairly  before  the  public,  I  determined  to 
retire  here,  where  I  can  have  the  society  of  my  books  to 
satiety,  but  little  of  any  other.  I  shall  continue  here  till 
my  circumstances  are  so  ameliorated  that  I  can  venture 
forth  to  better  advantage  than  I  have  yet  done,  or  until 
something  like  the  prospects  you  have  presented  to  me 
call  me  forth.  With  regard  to  the  prospects  you  hold  out 
to  me  under  government,  I  can  say  that  I  am  much  dis 
posed  to  accept  any  eligible  situation  which  may  be  offered 
me.  It  is  not  in  my  power  to  decide  yet  which  of  the 
two  situations,  Washington  or  West  Point,  I  should  pre 
fer.  It  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  learn  what  places  it 
may  be  in  my  power  to  obtain,  before  I  can  decide  which 
of  them  I  will  venture  on.  I  do  not  yet  know  the  course 
which  is  taken  by  one  who  wishes  a  place  under  govern 
ment.  I  conclude  from  what  you  say  that  application 
must  be  made  by  me  or  my  friends.  On  all  those  doubt 
ful  points  I  shall  wait  for  your  instructions.  Please  write 
me  soon,  and  give  me  what  information  is  in  your  power 
respecting  all  the  points  you  have  hinted  at  in  your  letter, 
and  concerning  which  I  have  here  requested  your  advice. 
I  have  been  so  long  without  any  adequate  support  or  any 
permanent  station  in  society,  that  I  hardly  know  what  to 
say  to  any  proposal  to  engage  at  once  in  a  responsible 
employment.  Yet  I  am  fully  convinced  that  such  an  em 
ployment  would  be  highly  advantageous,  if  it  is  not  neces 
sary  to  me.  You  may  take  such  measures  as  you  may 
think  most  proper  in  my  case ;  and  when  you  have  ascer 
tained  what  can  be  done,  if  you  will  take  the  trouble  to 


182  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XL 

write  the  result  of  your  inquiries,  you  will  much  oblige  me. 
There  is  one  obligation  which  I  meant  to  have  discharged 
before  you  went  Southward,  but  I  could  not  see  you  in 
New  Haven  after  Commencement.  I  was  long  on  the 
watch  for  you,  till  I  finally  learned  that  you  had  gone.  I 
shall  discharge  it  as  soon  as  I  have  an  opportunity. 

My  octavo  volume,  as  I  have  before  hinted,  is  already 
published.  If  any  could  be  disposed  of  in  Washington 
by  subscriptions  on  my  account,  perhaps  I  might  supply 
them  to  my  own  advantage.  Please  to  write  me  as  soon 
as  convenient. 

Yours  respectfully, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

In  a  second  letter,  dated  Washington,  December  15, 
1823,  I  said  :  — 

"  The  object  of  the  present  letter  is  to  ask  you  whether 
Does  Percivai  you  would  be  pleased  with  the  appointment  to 
pointmentof  the  office  of  Assistant  Surgeon  in  the  army. 
Surgeon?  You  can  have  it  if  you  choose.  I  am  authorized 
to  state  that  in  case  of  your  appointment,  you  can  be 
retained  at  some  agreeable  station  in  the  Atlantic  States, 
unless  you  should  choose  to  go  to  the  Western  frontier 
until  there  is  a  vacancy  at  West  Point  (which  is  con 
stantly  expected),  which  will  give  you  the  situation  now 
occupied  by  Dr.  Cutbush. 

"  This,  I  suppose,  would  be  a  very  agreeable  one  to 
you,  and  sufficiently  lucrative,  and  leading  to  something 
still  higher. 

"  Of  the  high  standing  of  West  Point  I  need  say  noth 
ing.  When  you  go  there  it  will  be  expected  that  you 
will  deliver  some  lectures  on  Chemistry,  for  which  you 
will  receive  an  additional  compensation.  Until  then 


wSJ     PROFESSORSHIP    AT    WEST    POINT.        183 

you  will  receive  fifty-two  dollars  per  month,  eight  dollars 
for  horse,  twelve  dollars  for  servant,  and  three  rations 
per  day,  —  altogether  making  a  handsome  salary,  to  be 
increased  when  you  go  to  West  Point. 

"The  Surgeon-General,  Dr.  Lovell,  whom  I  know 
very  well  as  a  man  of  genuine  worth,  and  the  Kindness  of 
Secretary  of  War,  Mr.  Calhoun,  are  both  very  ami  M^11 
much  disposed  to  give  you  the  appointment.  Calhoun- 
Applications  are  numerous,  backed  by  powerful  friends. 
Only  a  few  days  since,  a  gentleman  with  letters  from 
some  of  the  lirst  men  in  the  country  was  set  aside  on  the 
expectation  of  giving  the  appointment  to  you.  Since  I 
first  wrote,  the  vacancy  has  occurred,  which,  in  the  re 
duced  number,  is  an  uncommon  thing.  You  have  only  to 
make  the  application,  or  let  me  make  it  for  you,  in  order 
to  receive  the  nomination  of  the  Secretary  of  War,  which 
will  insure  the  office  to  you. 

"  Dr.  Lovell  told  me  that,  for  the  satisfaction  of  the 
Senate,  it  would  be  well  for  you  to  present  the  recommen 
dations  of  some  of  your  friends  in  New  Haven,  —  some 
of  the  officers  of  the  Academic  and  Medical  Colleges,  and 
perhaps  Mr.  Bishop  in  regard  to  talents  and  integrity,  — 
as  a  mere  matter  of  form,  and  not  as  the  ground  of  the 
appointment. 

"  When  you  take  into  view  the  situation  at  West  Point, 
and  the  ease  with  which  the  appointment  may  be  obtained, 
and  the  certainty  of  a  genteel  support,  you  had  better 
weigh  the  matter  well,  even  though  at  first  you  feel  in 
clined  to  reject  it.  You  ought,  by  all  means,  to  converse 
with  Professor  Silliman  about  the  situation  at  West  Point. 
You  will,  I  am  sure,  pardon  this  expression  of  my  opin 
ion,  because  in  yours  of  the  8th  you  ask  for  my  advice. 

"Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  write  immediately 


184  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XL 

after  you  have  had  time  to  make  up  your  mind  on  the 
subject,  as  it  will  be  difficult  to  keep  the  situation  for  you 
very  long." 

To  this  letter  of  mine  he  wrote  the  following  reply. 
But  before  it  was  received  I  wrote  to  him,  under  date  of 
December  23,  1823,  that  Dr.  Lovell  "  has  just  informed 
me  that  Dr.  Cutbush  of  West  Point  has  died,  and  that 
the  place  is  now  open  for  you.  And  now,  my  dear  sir, 
can  you  write  immediately  to  let  me  know  your  wishes  ? 
There  is  a  tide  upon  the  affairs  of  men,  etc.  You  place 
yourself  in  the  line  of  promotion  by  accepting  the  situa 
tion,  and  you  can,  if  you  choose,  resign  it  at  any  moment 
for  something  better." 


TO  WILLIAM  0.  FOWLER. 

BERLIN,  December  25,  1823. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

I  wrote  you  immediately  on  receiving  your  former  let 
ters,  and  am  sorry  it  had  not  reached  you  before  you 
He  accepts  wrote  me  your  second.  I  am  altogether  ready 

the  appoint- 

meat.  and  willing  to  take  the  appointment  offered  me. 

It  is  just  what  I  want.  I  hope  Mr.  Calhoun  will  not 
lose  his  patience  and  give  it  to  another.  I  am  unwilling 
to  let  so  good  an  opportunity  slip  through  my  hands  un 
improved.  I  am  going  down  to  New  Haven  next  week, 
and  will  then  procure  and  forward  to  you  the  recommen 
dations  needed.  Mr.  Silliman  has  already  written  to  me, 
urging  my  acceptance.  But  I  need  no  urging.  I  leave 
the  matter  with  you  only.  I  trust  the  next  news  I  have 
from  Washington  will  be  the  confirmation  of  my  appoint 
ment.  My  situation  here  has  occasioned  some  little  de- 


PROFESSORSHIP    AT    WEST    POINT.         185 

lay  ;  otherwise  my  former  letters  would  have  reached  you 
sooner. 

Yours  sincerely, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

To  this  I  replied  as  follows :  — 

TO  JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

WASHINGTON,  December  31, 1823. 

DEAR  SIR,  — 

Yours  of  the  25th  was  received  this  evening.  Imme 
diately  on  the  death  of  Dr.  Cutbush,  application  for  the 
appointment  was  made  in  behalf  of  a  gentleman  who  is 
very  highly  recommended.  Mr.  Calhoun  and  Dr.  Lovell 
still  adhere  to  their  intention  of  nominating  you.  The 
nomination  of  course  gives  it  to  you,  provided  the  Senate 
should  be  satisfied  with  the  recommendations. 

The  Secretary  of  War  wants  no  further  evidence  himself. 
But  he  wants  the  testimony  of  the  respectable  gentlemen 
of  New  Haven,  and  as  many  others  of  the  State  as  you 
can  conveniently  obtain,  in  order  to  justify  the  appoint 
ment  to  the  public.  If  you  can  obtain  recommendations 
from  the  officers  of  the  two  Colleges,  namely  the  Aca 
demic  and  the  Medical,  from  respectable  physicians  and 
leading  politicians,  from  Governor  Wolcott,  if  convenient, 
you  may  be  sure  of  having  the  appointment. 

It  is  not  required  by  Dr.  Calhoun  and  Dr.  Lovell ;  but 
as  a  matter  of  courtesy  it  might  be  well  to  address  a  short 
letter  to  the  Secretary  of  War,  for  the  office  of  Surgeon 
at  West  Point.  Professor  Silliman  is  acquainted  with 
such  things.  You  can  address  it  directly  to  him,  or  I 
will  receive  and  deliver  it. 


186  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  XL 

Can  you  not  send  a  copy  of  your  select  edition,  and 
one  of  your  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Orations,  as  specimens  ?    I 
will  see  Mr.  Thompson,  the  bookseller. 
Yours  faithfully, 

W.  C.  FOWLER. 


TO  WILLIAM  C.  FOWLER. 

NEW  HAVEN,  January  4, 1824. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

I  received  a  letter  from  you  this  morning,  and  I  hasten 
to  answer  you  immediately.  I  have  already  written  you 
two  letters  in  answer  to  your  former  letters,  immediately 
on  the  receipt  of  them.  I  am  surprised  and  almo.-t 
alarmed  that  you  have  not  received  them.  I  have  there 
and  do  here  not  only  freely  accept  the  place  offered  me, 
but  I  urge  you  to  make  an  immediate  application  in  form, 
that  there  may  be  no  chance  of  failure.  I  will  myself, 
as  soon  as  possible,  collect  all  the  recommendations  de 
sirable,  and  enclose  them,  with  a  direct  application  on  my 
own  part,  to  Mr.  Calhoun.  I  have  been  all  this  time  at 
Berlin,  which,  I  think,  must  be  the  cause  of  all  the  delay 
in  my  letters,  and  have  but  just  reached  here.  If  I  should 
His  anxiety  ^^  the  place  by  such  delays,  it  would  be  a 
for  the  place.  death-blow  to  me.  Use  your  utmost  to  insure 
my  success,  and  I  shall  always  be  obliged  to  you. 
Yours, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

It  happened  that  after  this  I  was  absent  from  the  city 
for  a  few  weeks,  and  on  my  return  I  found  that  circum 
stances  had  occurred  which  had  greatly  endangered  the 


PROFESSORSHIP    AT    WEST    POINT.         187 

promised  appointment.  Other  candidates  had  been 
brought  forward,  backed  by  a  powerful  influence.  A  day 
or  two  after  my  return,  as  I  was  walking  up  F  Street,  I 
saw  the  tall  form  of  Mr.  Calhoun  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street,  moving  in  an  opposite  direction.  As  soon  as  he 
saw  me,  he  came  over  to  meet  me  in  his  delightful,  cor 
dial  manner.  As  soon  as  the  greetings  were  over,  I  al 
luded  to  the  matter  of  the  appointment.  "  0,"  said  he, 
"  things  have  changed  since  I  saw  you.  I  was  The  appoint- 

,    ment  doubt- 
not  aware  that  the  place  would  be  so  much  ftii. 

sought  for.  The  New  York  delegation  have  brought 
forward  Dr.  Torrey,  who  is  entirely  qualified  for  the 
place.  They  insist  that  they  have  claims  on  the  Depart 
ment  for  the  appointment,  inasmuch  as  West  Point  is  in 
their  State."  Then  he  paused,  looking  into  my  face 
searchingly.  I  simply  replied,  "  Dr.  Percival  expects  the 
appointment."  Immediately  he  gave  me  the  parting 
hand,  asked  me  to  call  and  see  his  family,  and  passed  on, 
leaving  me  very  much  troubled  about  my  friend  Percival. 
Will  Mr.  Calhoun,  who  had  the  appointment  in  his  hands, 
be  true  to  his  promise  and  to  me,  or  will  he  yield  to  polit 
ical  expediency  or  what  is  called  political  necessity,  on  the 
deceptive  basis  of  the  "  greater  good  "  ?  A  mere  politi 
cian  would  yield,  pleading  a  change  of  circum-  Will  Mn 
stances  for  the  violation  of  his  promise.  Will  keep°h^ 
Mr.  Calhoun?  Will  Mr.  Calhoun  value  his  promiae? 
promise  to  an  obscure  young  man  like  me  more  than  the 
popular  favor  of  a  strong  delegation,  like  that  of  New 
York? 

On  my  return  I  found  the  following  letter  from  Dr. 
Percival :  — 


l88  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XI. 

TO  WILLIAM  C.  FOWLER. 

BERLIN,  February  19,  1824. 

DEAR  SIR,  — 

It  is  now  several  weeks  since  I  have  had  any  news 
from  Washington.  Dr.  Lovell  wrote  me  about  the  mid 
dle  of  January,  promising  that  I  should  be  nominated  and 
that  the  appointment  should  take  place  the  early  part  of 
this  month.  The  month  is  now  more  than  half  passed 
away,  and  I  have  no  news.  Perhaps  it  may  be  only  an 
unavoidable  delay.  If  so,  it  would  be  a  great  relief  to  me 
to  be  informed  of  it  by  a  short  line.  But  if  I  am  not 
written  to  because  Mr.  Calhoun  has  changed  his  views 
with  regard  to  me,  or  because  the  appointment  has  been 
made  and  I  have  been  unsuccessful,  I  am  still  more  anx 
ious  to  learn  the  results.  I  do  not  wish  anything  to  be 
concealed  from  me.  I  have  been  waiting  here  several 
weeks  solely  for  the  decision  of  this  question.  My  situa 
tion  here  is  very  unpleasant,  and  if  I  lose  the  appoint 
ment  I  must  leave  here  immediately,  and  seek  an  em 
ployment  which  will  furnish  me  at  least  the  comforts  of 
life.  My  funds  are  too  small  to  allow  of  delay.  It  is 
for  this  reason  more  particularly  that  I  am  anxious  to 
hear  the  results  at  Washington,  favorable  or  unfavor 
able,  as  soon  as  may  be,  so  that  I  may  not  be  obliged  to 
waste  my  time  and  money  by  any  unnecessary  delay. 
After  what  has  already  occurred,  and  since  I  have  pro 
cured  the  very  best  recommendations  Connecticut  can 
afford,  I  feel  almost  a  confidence  that  I  shall  not  be 
neglected. 

Yours  sincerely, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 


Jt429.]       IS    DISAPPOINTED    AND    RESIGNS.  189 

A  day  or  two  after  my  interview  with  Mr.  Calhoun  I 
was  greatly  surprised  by  the  arrival  of  Dr.  Per-  percivai  in 
rival,  his  face  instinct  with  emotion,  and  his  Ian-  w  hm^ton» 
guage  highly  excited :  "  I  could  bear  the  suspense  no 
longer."  After  tea,  Dr.  Lovell  called  upon  him  and  took 
him  to  the  President's  house.  About  midnight  I  was  sur 
prised  to  see  him  enter  my  room  with  a  candle,  and  ap 
proach  my  bedside.  After  an  apology,  he  told  me  he 
could  not  sleep  unless  he  informed  me  of  what  happened 
at  the  levee.  "  When  Dr.  Lovell  introduced  me  to  Presi 
dent  Monroe  as  Dr.  Percivai,  the  President  responded, 
<0f  West  Point'  What  did  that  mean?"  I  told  him 
it  meant  that  he  would  receive  the  appointment.  "  I 
thought  so,"  said  he,  "  but  I  could  not  sleep  until  I  had 
told  you."  The  next  day  his  nomination,  with  And  MS  ap- 

pointment 

others,  was  sent  into  the  benate  and  immediately  confirmed. 
confirmed.  Mr.  Calhoun  had  been  true  to  his  promise  to 
me,  although  at  the  loss  of  political  favor.  The  following 
evening  we  attended  a  small  party  at  Dr.  LovelPs,  where 
we  met  Senator  Lloyd  of  Massachusetts,  and  Mr.  Rives, 
member  of  Congress  from  Virginia,  and  other  gentlemen. 
Percival's  poetical  face  created  quite  a  sensation,  espe 
cially  among  the  ladies,  before  they  knew  who  he  was. 

Percivai  was  greatly  disappointed  at  West  Point,  and 
wrote  to  me,  requesting  that  I  would  intercede  He  is  disap- 
for  him  at  Washington,  that  he  might  be  trans-  west  Point. 
ferred  to  some  other  post.  Very  much  to  my  mortifica 
tion,  I  did  so.  He  also  wrote  to  the  Surgeon -General  to 
the  same  effect.  He  was  accordingly  transferred  to  Bos 
ton,  much  to  his  delight  at  first,  though  afterwards  he 
requested  me  to  aid  him  in  obtaining  a  clerkship  at 
Washington,  instead  of  his  position  at  Boston. 


190  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [ CHAP.  XI. 

TO  WILLIAM  C.  FOWLER. 

WEST  POINT,  May  5,  1824. 

DEAR  SIR,  — 

I  enclose  you  ten  dollars  in  return  for  the  sum  I  bor 
rowed  of  you  last  summer.  I  regret  that  circumstances 
have  so  long  prevented  this  payment,  and  I  feel  a  great 
satisfaction  in  discharging  this  pecuniary  debt.  I  have 
too  many  debts  of  friendship  to  pay  you  to  think  of  dis 
charging  them  so  easily.  I  have  this  evening  first  sat 
S?  ^M'W  ^own  in  mv  quartei's-  To  tell  you  the  plain 
troubles  truth,  I  am  altogether  dissatisfied  with  them. 
They  are  not  equal  to  my  rank.  The  other  professors, 
who  rank  as  majors,  are  quartered  in  separate  elegant 
brick  houses,  and  two  of  the  French  teachers,  who  rank 
as  captains,  are  quartered  in  a  very  handsome  double 
brick  house,  with  entirely  separate  accommodations.  My 
rank  is  between  major  and  captain,  and  yet  my  quarters 
are  below  them  all.  I  am  thrust  into  the  half  of  an  old 
leaky,  disjointed,  smoky  wood  house,  full  of  cracks  and 
rats,  with  a  common  entry  and  staircase,  so  that  it  is  im 
possible  for  me  to  enjoy  the  privacy  and  independence  of 
a  separate  family.  It  is  such  a  house  as  I  would  never 
think  of  putting  a  family  in  as  long  as  I  had  as  good 
means  of  supporting  one  as  I  otherwise  have.  However, 
I  think  of  leaving  it  myself  and  taking  rooms  elsewhere. 
To  speak  truth,  I  am  entirely  dissatisfied  here.  My  du 
ties,  instead  of  being  light,  as  you  represented  them,  now 
and  then  a  lecture,  are  severe  and  constant, — one  lecture 
every  day  for  ten  months  in  a  year,  the  preparation  of  all 
the  experiments,  and  the  superintendence  of  the  chemical 
recitations  of  the  two  upper  classes.  I  offered  last  week 


Jt!*2».]       IS    DISAPPOINTED    AND    RESIGNS.          191 

to  instruct  the  first  class  in  mineralogy.  I  accordingly 
received  an  order  (everything  is  here  by  order)  to  give  a 
lecture  every  other  day,  and  the  intermediate  days  to  ex 
amine  the  class  in  two  sections,  each  section  an  hour ;  so 
that  I  go  over  the  same  subject  three  times  in  succession. 
This  I  think  you  will  say  is  drudgery.  This  is  a  fine 
way  of  encouraging  American  talent ;  there  is  no  avoid 
ing  it.  The  orders  are  positive.  This,  too,  is  only  one 
class.  What  will  it  be  with  two,  and  that  ten  months  in 
the  year  ?  I  told  you  my  duties  would  be  severe.  You 
told  me  not  to  make  them  so  ;  but  I  cannot  avoid  it.  I 
am  under  a  superintendent  whose  whole  soul  is  wrapped 
up  in  preserving  a  severe  discipline  of  conduct  and  stud 
ies.  He  regards  me  simply  as  a  chemist.  He  knows 
nothing  and  cares  nothing  for  my  literary  talents.  All 
he  expects  of  me  is  that  I  drudge  faithfully  in  my  duty. 

Sir,  it  will  never  do.  I  am  no  chemist.  I  have  at 
tended  lectures  and  read  some.  It  is  truth,- 1  am  no 
chemist.  I  never  performed  any  experiments,  and  if  I 
was  left  to  myself,  I  could  not  for  my  life  go  through  a 
course  of  lectures.  With  the  best  intentions  ue  has  been 
you  have  deceived  me,  and  with  the  most  inno-  de 
cent  intentions  I  have  deceived  the  government.  But  it 
is  not  too  late  to  correct  the  evil.  I  hold  the  commission 
of  Assistant  Surgeon.  I  might  be  stationed  as  such  in 
some  point,  and  I  should  then  lose  only  one  hundred  and 
twenty  dollars  a  year,  and  while  the  difference  in  duty 
is  five  hundred  dollars  at  least.  You  made  me  wrong 
representations.  You  represented  the  Surgeon's  place  as 
worth  only  eight  hundred  dollars,  and  this  place  twelve 
hundred  dollars.  This  at  furthest  is  only  eleven  hundred 
dollars,  and  the  Surgeon's  is  nearly  one  thousand  dollars. 
Now,  if  I  could  be  situated  permanently  at  some  Northerly 


192  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [ CHAP.  XL 

Atlantic  post,  the  duties  would  be  comparatively  trifling. 
They  would  be  in  the  way  of  my  profession,  in  which  I 
would  have  long  since  engaged  had  it  not  been  for  the 
absolute  want  of  funds.  A  continuance  of  the  duties  of 
surgeon  two  or  three  years  would  be  improving  me  in 
practice,  would  enable  me  to  lay  by  funds,  and  give  me 
abundant  leisure. 

My  duties  here  are  monotonously  severe.  The  em 
ployment  is  very  unhealthy.  I  have  no  experience  in  it, 
and  no  inclination  for  it.  It  leaves  little  or  no  leisure. 
It  compels  me  to  change  all  my  pursuits,  in  fact  to  rev 
olutionize  my  mind ;  and  for  all  this  it  gives  me  only 
one  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  per  annum.  It  is  a  pity 
I  did  not  know  this  beforehand  ;  but  my  ignorance  was 
not  my  own  fault.  I  followed  the  light  that  was  held  out 
to  me.  Now  I  am  really  strongly  inclined  to  resign  this 
place,  and  to  ask  for  a  garrison  station  as  Surgeon.  I 
want  it  permanent ;  but  if  that  cannot  be,  I  would  rather 
be  liable  to  change  of  quarters  than  attempt  the  Profes 
sorship  of  Chemistry  here. 

My  inclination  and  my  ambition  are  all  literary, 
nis  ambition  What  I  have  to  spare  from  that,  I  would  rather 

is  literary, 

not  scientific,  give  to  my  profession.  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  hate  chemistry,  and  the  very  thought  of  it  gives  me  an 
ague.  I  have  no  notion  of  stifling  myself  with  the  stench 
and  poison  of  a  laboratory.  If  I  can  make  this  exchange, 
I  shall  not  hesitate  to  accept  it.  If  not,  I  shall  drudge 
through  one  year,  and  then  return  to  the  ranks  of  my  fel 
low-citizens  ;  but  I  cannot  do  it  now,  for  I  am  penniless ;  and 
about  two  years  since  I  underwrote  a  brother  one  hundred 
dollars  for  a  tailor's  bill,  to  liberate  him  and  assist  him. 
He  has  gone  off,  and  during  my  late  visit  to  Connecticut 
I  was  arrested  for  the  debt.  I  am  now  under  bonds  to 


IS    DISAPPOINTED    AND    EESIGNS.          193 

appear  in  court  in  August,  —  no  escape  from  it.     I  have 
been  entangled  by  my  book.     I  must  have  my  salary  for 
a  year,  to  clear  out  and  have  funds  to  start  with.     I  did 
hope  that  I  might  find  a  place  here  where  I  could  have 
leisure  to  pursue  my  favorite  studies,  to  enlarge  my  liter 
ary  powers,  and  to  extend  my  reputation.     I  did  hope 
that  I  should  be  so  quartered  that  I  could  form  a  family 
of  my  own ;  and  if  circumstances  permitted,  I  could  find 
one  who  would  be  the  idol  of  my  temple :  but  ms  duties 
I  cannot  toil  like  a  mill-horse,  and  write  poetry.  f°°  Writing8 
I  cannot  invite  one  for  whom  I  have  any  regard  poetry- 
to  such  wretched  quarters  as  I  have  all  the  time,  above 
all,  when  they  are  but  forty  rods  from  nearly  two  thousand 
barrels  of  gunpowder. 

My  life  has  been  a  series  of  disappointments,  and  here 
comes  the  worst  of  all.     I  reallv  do  not  like  to  His  life  a  se- 

ries  of  disap- 

negotiate  this  exchange  myself,  but  I  am  very  pointments. 
desirous  it  should  be  done.  If  you  can  make  a  statement 
of  the  circumstances  to  Dr.  Lovell,  you  will  much  oblige 
me.  If  not,  I  must  do  it  myself.  I  confess  it,  I  am 
disappointed.  I  expect  to  feel  the  bitterness  of  it.  If  I 
leave  here,  I  shall  be  reproached.  If  I  stay  here,  I  shall 
be  disgraced,  for  I  most  assuredly  must  fail.  I  never  can 
carry  through  a  course  of  chemistry.  I  am  no  chemist.  I 
never  was  one.  1  never  wish  to  be  one.  But  I  have  still 
some  literary  ambition,  and  I  know  where  my  talents  are. 
Will  you  write  me  soon  ?  If  you  can  suggest  anything, 
it  will  be  very  gratefully  received.  I  know  you  never 
expected  the  reality  of  my  situation,  and  when  you  come 
to  know  it,  I  do  not  believe  you  will  urge  me  to  continue. 
Yours,  JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

N.  B.  —  I  will  take  no  steps  till  I  hear  from  you. 
9*  M 


194  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XL 

Immediately  upon  the  receipt  of  this,  I  wrote  to  Dr. 
Lovell,  requesting  him  to  see  Mr.  Calhoun,  and  request 
him  to  comply  with  the  wishes  of  Dr.  Percival. 


TO  WILLIAM  C.  FOWLER. 

WEST  POINT,  May  24,  1824. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

I  wrote  you  a  few  weeks  since,  enclosing  you  ten  dol 
lars  in  return  for  the  sum  I  borrowed  of  you  last  summer. 
I  directed  the  letter  to  New  Haven.  When  I  met  you 
in  New  York,  I  wrote  you  on  the  subject  of  leaving  my 
present  station  for  the  post  of  acting  Surgeon.  I  wrote 
to  Mr.  Silliman.  He  answered  me,  entirely  concurring 
in  my  views.  I  wrote  also  to  Dr.  Lovell,  making  a  plain, 
unreserved  statement  of  the  whole  affair.  He  complied 
He  is  relieved  with  my  wishes,  and  I  am  now  relieved  from 
prTes^r-  tne  duties  of  acting  Professor  of  Chemistry,  or 
ship>  at  least  shall  be  in  July,  and  shall  then  receive 

some  appointment  as  acting  Surgeon.  I  have  requested 
to  be  stationed  at  Boston  Harbor.  I  may  not,  however, 
be  gratified  in  this  request.  The  post  at  the  arsenal  of 
Watervliet  is  vacant.  There  are  very  few  soldiers  sta 
tioned  there,  perhaps  not  sufficient  to  warrant  a  separate 
surgeon.  They  have,  however,  had  one  there. 

The  business  then  is  settled,  and  I  congratulate  myself 
on  my  good  fortune.  I  could  not  have  met  with  a  severer 
disappointment  than  I  did  here.  It  made  me  for  a  few 
weeks  perfectly  wretched.  You  were  entirely  ignorant 
of  the  situation.  You  raised  in  me  the  falsest  hopes,  and 
led  me  into  a  situation  from  which  I  have  escaped,  though 
not  without  reproaches.  The  many  will  only  know  that 


IS    DISAPPOINTED    AND    RESIGNS.          195 

I  have  left  the  place.  They  will  know  nothing  of  the 
wherefore.  They  will  therefore  reproach  me,  and  my 
reputation  must  suffer.  Those  who  understand  the  whole 
circumstances  will  highly  applaud  me  for  what  I  have 
done.  You  may  rest  assured  of  it.  You  certainly  did 
deceive  me,  but  most  innocently.  You  were  yourself 
deceived,  and  that  too  by  men  whose  intentions  were  of 
the  best  kind.  They  simply  did  not  know  the  details  of 
the  duties  of  the  place.  I  speak  within  bounds  when  I 
say  that,  for  ten  months  in  the  year,  my  duties  would  em 
ploy  me  ten  hours  a  day  in  severe  labor  and  drudgery. 
I  could  not  have  endured  it.  One  lecture  a  day,  two 
recitations  on  each  lecture,  the  preparation  of  the  experi 
ments,  examinations,  which  during  public  examinations 
occupy  ten  hours  a  day.  I  believe  Mr.  Calhoun  and  Dr. 
Lovell  meant  to  be  generous.  They  did  not  mean  to 
condemn  me  to  such  drudgery.  It  would  have  been  no 
kindness  if  they  had  done  it.  There  was  no  additional 
compensation  to  induce  me.  Only  one  hundred  and 
twenty  dollars  per  annum,  the  same  a  cadet  receives  for 
hearing  the  recitation  of  a  single  section,  only  twice  the 
sum  my  own  orderly  or  servant  would  receive  !  Such 
pay  is  an  insult.  In  leaving  this  place,  then,  I  only  re 
sign  one  hundred  and  twenty  dollars ;  my  pay  is  still 
over  nine  hundred  dollars  per  annum.  I  am  content  with 
it,  and  trust  I  shall  find  the  duties  attached  to  it  light;  but 
if  I  do  not,  I  can  resign,  and  retire  into  the  ranks  of  my 
fellow-citizens. 

I  have  been  disappointed.  I  have  been  exposed  to  a 
loss  of  reputation.  And  yet  I  believe  you  have  had  the 
very  best  intentions.  I  indulge  no  resentment.  I  regret 
that  you  were  so  hasty,  that  you  were  not  better  informed. 
I  am  sure  if  you  had  been,  we  should  at  once  have  agreed 


196  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XI. 

that  the  surgeon's  place  was  far  preferable.  I  regret 
that  I  was  so  confiding,  that  I  had  not  been  so  suspi 
cious  as  to  have  learned  exactly  the  nature  of  the  situa 
tion  before  I  approached  it.  If  so,  I  should  never  have 
approached  it. 

Will  you  write  me  on  receipt  of  this  letter,  and  inform 
me  whether  you  have  received  my  former  letters,  with  the 
enclosed  ten  dollars,  to  discharge  the  debts  of  one  who 
had  those  claims  upon  me  which  are  so  often  troublesome 
and  rarely  profitable  to  consanguinity  ? 
Yours,  etc., 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

P.  S.  —  I  have  received  a  copy  of  the  London  edition 
Receives  the  of  my  poems.  I  confided  it  to  S.  G.  Goodrich. 
tiou^ASj1"  He  could  not  be  satisfied  without  writing  my 
life  and  praising  me  extravagantly  in  an  Intro 
duction,  all  well  meant,  but  highly  injurious  *  to  me.  I 
was  in  New  York  last  week.  I  found  that  Wiley  had 
again  neglected  to  send  my  books  to  Washington.  I  saw 
them  packed  up,  and  wrote  the  directions  with  my  own 
hand ;  but  I  warrant  he  never  will  send  them. 

In  reply  to  this  letter,  I  addressed  one  to  him  from 
Lebanon,  Conn.,  in  which  I  expressed  my  regrets  for  his 
disappointment  at  West  Point,  and  my  best  wishes  for  his 
happiness,  in  the  place  he  hoped  to  occupy  in  Boston. 

*  This  is  true.  He  had  no  such  nice  sense  of  propriety  as  Percival 
demanded,  aud  his  notice,  it  must  be  confessed,  reads  like  an  adver 
tisement. 


JtVl       IS    DISAPPOINTED    AND    RESIGNS.          197 

TO  WILLIAM  C.  FOWLER. 

WEST  POINT,  June  12,  1824. 

DEAR  SIR,  — 

I  received  your  letter  of  the  6th  this  morning.  If  I 
used  anything  like  reproach  in  my  letters,  I  regret  it.  I 
have  had  several  things  to  disturb  me  here.  I  have  been 
deprived  of  my  quarters,  and  obliged  to  pack  my  books, 
furniture,  etc.,  in  one  little  room,  and  find  a  lodging  in 
another  at  the  mess-house,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant, 
where  I  have  been  exposed  to  all  the  tumults  of  a  hall, 
tavern,  or  family  of  children.  All  this  I  have  been  com 
pelled  to  submit  to  by  orders,  to  make  room  for  a  quarter 
master.  I  regret  to  see  the  harsh  tone  you  have  assumed. 
Perhaps  I  had  provoked  it.  However,  I  do  not  wish  to 
quarrel  with  you.  I  believe  you  were  actuated  by  the 
very  best  intentions  ;  but  we  were  neither  of  us  sufficiently 
acquainted  with  the  place  here  to  judge  aright.  My  ne 
cessities  urged  me  to  acceptation.  I  must  say  that  Mr. 
Silliman  urged  me  not  to  accept  the  appointment.  He 
said  its  duties  would  be  severe ;  and  he  did  not  think  it 
wise  or  safe  in  me  to  assume  the  character  of  a  chemist. 
He  was  right,  and  he  has  wholly  approved  my  resolution 
to  relinquish  it. 

My  necessities  were  not  last  winter  so  great  as  you 
think.     I   owed   nothing   on   my  own   account,  A  personal 
and  did  not  expect  any  trouble  from  the  debts  review- 
of  others.     My  dispute  with  Maltby  was  settled  before, 
to  my  advantage.     I  was  only  not  in  a  profitable  em 
ployment,  but  I  was  quietly  settled  where  I  could  write 
and  study  as  much  and  as  quietly  as  I  chose.     I  had  no 
Babel  of  noises  to  confound  me,  as  I  have  had  here.     I 


198  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XI. 

had  been  unsuccessful  in  my  poetry,  but  it  was  partly  my 
own  fault.  I  had  not  consulted  popularity.  I  had  then 
resolved  to  change  my  course,  and  to  write  such  as  would 
take  without  compromising  my  reputation.  I  am  not  cer 
tain  that  I  have  gained  anything  for  leaving  that  retire 
ment.  I  know  I  have  not  yet.  I  have  exposed  myself 
to  much  obloquy.  You  reproach  me.  I  see  it  very 
clearly.  You  think  I  have  no  stability.  I  shall  not 
attempt  to  defend  myself.  I  know  the  correctness  of 
my  own  views  and  intentions.  I  know,  or  I  am  per 
suaded,  that  this  relinquishment  of  my  place  here  was 
one  of  the  wisest  acts  of  my  life.  I  know  I  am  justified 
by  many  highly  respectable  men  who  know  my  character 
and  attainments  and  the  real  nature  of  the  situation.  I 
have  settled  the  affair,  I  believe,  to  the  satisfaction  of 
Mr.  Calhoun,  at  least  I  have  been  told  so  by  good  au 
thority. 

I  know  not  yet  where  I  shall  be  stationed  as  a  surgeon, 
but  wherever  I  am  I  shall  make  the  best  of  it.  I  do  not 
expect  any  great  support  for  myself,  at  least  till  I  can 
rid  myself  of  my  present  most  unjust  embarrassments  ; 
for  I  have  the  satisfaction  of  reflecting  that  I  have  in 
curred  no  debts  of  my  own.  I  have  always  lived  within 
my  income  ;  I  always  shall.  I  did  incur  a  slight  debt  by 
the  unsuccessful  publication  of  a  volume,  but  I  paid  it 
seasonably  and  fairly  ;  and  now  I  am  embarrassed  some 
what  by  taking  on  myself  the  burdens  of  another.  If 
that  other  had  used  me  honorably,  I  should  not  have  re 
garded  it ;  but  it  does  rouse  me  to  find  him  concealing 
himself,  and  exposing  me  to  a  sheriff.  I  have  said  too 
much.  I  know  very  well  that  I  have  not  followed  money- 
getting  prudence.  I  know  I  have  little  wealth  and  none 
of  those  family  friends  who  are  mutual  supports  to  each 


IS    DISAPPOINTED    AND    EESIGNS.          199 

other.  I  am  utterly  and  entirely  alone.  I  am  therefore 
in  danger  of  cutting  loose  and  suffering  shipwreck.  It  is 
dangerous  to  live  without  a  link  to  foster  one.  I  must 
therefore  devote  myself  more  earnestly  to  my  favorite 
pursuits.  The  love  of  study  may  fix  me,  but  those  stud 
ies  must  not  be  such  as  I  hate.  I  must  recover  my  lost 
ground  in  my  profession,  and  the  surgeon's  place  will  be 
directly  in  the  way  of  it.  When  I  have  obtained  from 
the  surplus  of  my  pay  enough  to  stand  alone,  then  to  be 
wise  I  must  establish  myself  in  my  profession,  and  per 
haps  I  may  then  be  respectable.  Let  what  will  come,  I 
will  not  abandon  poetry.  I  have  done  too  much  to  aban- 
Appointed  don  it.  I  have  just  been  appointed  to  deliver  a 
Kappfpoet  poem  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  at  Cambridge, 
at  Harvard.  and  j  haye  engage(}  to  attend.*  Mr.  Edward 
Everett  will  deliver  the  oration.  This  will  bring  me  in 
contact  with  the  only  literary  body  in  this  country,  and 
would  to  God  it  might  lead  to  some  permanent  associa 
tion.  Not  that  I  indulge  in  such  a  hope,  but  two  hun 
dred  dollars  among  them  would  be  better  to  me  than  one 
thousand  here,  —  yes,  two  thousand.  I  do  not  want  money 
so  much  as  motives.  When  I  have  the  mere  necessities 
cared  for,  I  prefer  a  surplus  of  such  intellectual  stuff  as 
the  society  of  Harvard  or  Boston  would  give  to  me,  and 
•which  cannot  be  found  in  such  a  dull  and  noisy  region  as 
this.  However,  you  may  rest  assured  that  I  shall  be 
prudent.  I  hope  you  will  take  care  to  get  the  letter  I 
wrote  you  at  New  Haven. 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

*  He  afterwards  declined  the  apoointment. 


200  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XI. 

TO  WILLIAM  C.  FOWLER. 

BOSTON,  January  20,  1825. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  written  to  you.  Perhaps 
you  may  have  attributed  this  long  silence  to  neglect  and 
ingratitude.  I  have  at  least  been  very  unhappy  ever 
since  my  expectation  was  disappointed  at  West  Point. 
It  has  been  a  killing  stroke  to  me.  I  have  in  all  the  let 
ters  I  have  written  to  you  on  the  subject  endeavored  to 
impress  upon  you  my  full  conviction  that  your  motives  in 
all  that  affair  were  of  the  very  best  kind,  but  unfortu 
nately  we  did  not  either  of  us  understand  the  nature  of 
the  place  at  West  Point ;  most  unfortunately  for  me,  for 
it  has  thrown  me  into  a  place  here  disagreeable  in  itself, 
and  where  my  compensation  is  reduced  more  than  half, 
without  any  chance  of  improvement.  I  have  regretted, 
ever  since  I  felt  myself  obliged  to  leave  West  Point,  that 
He  regrets  you  had  not  at  first  directed  the  patronage  which 

that  he  has      J 

not  a  clerk-  was  granted  me  last  winter  to  the  situation  of  a 
Washington,  clerk  at  Washington.  In  that  we  understood 
each  other.  I  know  it  would  be  a  place  of  considerable 
labor,  but  I  was  prepared  for  it,  and  was  resolved  to  meet 
it ;  and  now  I  should  feel  myself  peculiarly  fortunate  if  I 
could  obtain  a  clerkship  there  on  as  good  terms  as  I 
might  have  done  last  winter. 

It  was  not  so  much  the  severe  labor  which  rendered  me 
dissatisfied  with  the  place  at  West  Point,  as  the  necessity 
of  actually  engaging  in  a  profession  with  which  I  had  no 
practical  acquaintance,  and  that  too  without  any  previous 
preparation  ;  but  it  would  not  have  been  so  with  the 
clerkship  at  Washington.  There  would  have  been  noth- 


UNITED  STATES  SUEGEON  IN  BOSTON.   2OI 

ing  there  which  I  might  not  have  easily  made  myself 
familiar  with  ;  and  when  I  had  once  acquired  the  routine 
of  the  office,  there  would  have  been  no  difficulty  but  the 
time  of  labor.  I  ain  now  convinced  that  this  would  have 
been  rather  an  advantage  to  me  than  otherwise.  It  would 
have  saved  me  from  misery  on  the  part  of  myself,  and 
would  have  given  an  activity  to  my  mind  which  I  wholly 
lose  here.  I  should  have  been  better  satisfied  with  my 
self,  and  the  time  I  had  left  I  should  consider  more  my 
own  than  if  nothing  comparatively  was  required  of  me. 
My  situation  here  is  of  that  kind.  I  have  a  small  salary, 
barely  sufficient  to  support  me,  but  my  duties  Hig  situation 
are  very  slight.  I  am  chained  here,  with  no  m  Boston- 
opportunity  of  showing  what  I  can  do,  unless  I  sit  down 
to  the  writing  of  books,  for  which  I  have  no  courage  or 
motive,  since  I  have  neither  benefited  my  purse  or  any 
other  interest  of  mine  by  those  I  have  written.  I  came 
here  unfortunately,  and  I  have  never  yet  been  able  to 
form  any  acquaintances  here,  or  to  appear  as  a  literary 
man.  I  have  no  advantage  of  literary  institutions,  noth 
ing  that  can  excite  or  improve  me,  merely  a  dull  and 
unprofitable  leisure.  Of  course,  I  cannot  be  willing  to 
continue  here. 

I  have  had  encouragement  in  Philadelphia  to  expect 
considerable  success,  if  I   would  encase  in   a  He  is  invited 

0  .  to  teach 

school  there,  and  rather  than  stay  here  in  my  school  iu 

'  J    Philadel- 

present  circumstances  I  would  most  willingly  phia. 
do  so.  I  need  some  active  employment.  Here  I  stag 
nate  and  become  miserable.  My  bad  health  adds  to  this, 
but  is  not  alone  sufficient.  If  I  were  satisfactorily  em 
ployed,  I  should  not  feel  it  so  much.  But  I  do  not  wish 
to  leave  the  employment  of  the  government.  I  would 
rather  continue  in  it,  if  I  could  secure  an  appointment 
9* 


202  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XI. 

that  would  allow  me  to  settle,  and  by  a  reasonable  occupa 
tion,  such  as  that  of  clerk,  would  give  me  a  compensation 
beyond  the  bare  supply  of  my  own  wants.  I  have  no  in- 
Has  given  teiitions  of  connecting  myself  in  life,  but  I  have 
•"age.  a  mother,  who,  I  greatly  fear,  will  need  my  as 
sistance  at  some  future  period.  As  it  is,  I  am  extremely 
dissatisfied  with  my  present  situation,  and  I  shall  feel  it 
my  duty  to  exchange  it  for  some  one  where  I  can  be  more 
fully  and  more  profitably  employed ;  and  I  would  rather 
choose  to  leave  here  for  such  an  employment  as  a  clerk 
ship  than  to  leave  all  connection  with  the  government. 

Mr.  Calhoun  is,  I  am  persuaded,  friendly  to  me,  but  I 
have  an  unwillingness  to  bring  myself  too  often  before 
him.  I  wish  to  suggest  to  him  and  Dr.  Lovell  that  I 
should  think  it  a  great  favor  to  receive  a  clerkship  at 
Washington.  I  wish  to  have  the  business  opened  to  them 
from  the  beginning,  and  perhaps  if  they  were  acquainted 
with  all  the  circumstances  they  would  use  their  influence 
to  procure  me  such  a  situation.  You  were  successful  in 
my  cause  last  winter,  and  perhaps  might  be  again,  could 
you  introduce  the  subject  to  Dr.  Lovell  in  such  a  way  as 
would  be  likely  to  meet  a  favorable  consideration.  I  feel 
ill  prepared  to  attempt  it  myself.  You  may  have  been 
dissatisfied  with  me ;  but  if  you  knew  my  disappointment 
and  suffering  from  it,  I  think  you  would  pardon  me. 
Yours  respectfully, 

JAMES  G.  TERCIVAL. 

I  wrote  to  Dr.  Lovell  as  he  desired.  But  the  matter 
was  not  followed  up,  because  he  became  gradually  en 
grossed  in  certain  literary  engagements.  It  may  not 
be  improper  for  me  to  say  that,  in  1844,  when  Mr. 
Calhoun  was  Secretary  of  State,  in  conversation  with 


<E?».]  RETURNS    TO    LITERATURE.  203 

him,  I  alluded  to  the  appointment  of  Dr.  Percival,  some 
what  in   the  way  of  apology.     "0,"  said  he.  Mr.Caihoun'a 

J  t    r        &J  opinion  of 

pleasantly,  "  Dr.  Percival  was  a  poet,  Dr.  Per-  Percival. 
cival  was  a  poet,"  and  immediately  introduced  another 
subject. 

So  far  I  have  used  Professor  Fowler's  communication. 
When   the  patronage  of  the  government  had  been  so 
suddenly  taken  away  from  him,  his  only  income  was  from 
his  pen ;  but  this  he  kept  constantly  employed.  Attempts  to 
One  of  his  first  labors  was  an  attempt  to  abridge  Lempriere. 
Lempriere's  Classical  Dictionary  in  ninety  days.     How 
well  he  succeeded  is  explained  in  the  following  letter:  — 


BOSTON,  December  29,  1824. 
DEAR  SIR,  — 

Since  I  have  been  here  I  have  been  laboring  constantly 
on  Lempriere,  but  I  find  my  progress  less  rapid  than  I 
had  expected.  In  truth,  I  find  it  will  be  an  excessively 
laborious  task  to  accomplish  in  ninety  days  what  I  have 
engaged.  Indeed,  I  do  not  think  it  would  be  at  all  in  my 
power  to  effect.  My  health  is  really  bad,  and  I  have 
already  applied  myself  too  closely  for  my  advantage. 
Besides,  I  find  it  extremely  difficult  to  retain  all  the  names 
and  reduce  the  matter  within  the  required  compass.  I 
believe  in  what  I  have  already  done  I  have  overrun  con 
siderably. 

This  is  a  kind  of  work  entirely  new  to  me ;  and,  con 
sidering  the  time  and  space  allowed  me  to  work  up  so 
large  materials,  I  feel  it  most  prudent  for  me  to  decline 
thus  early.     The  engagement  was  formed  too  hastily  on 
my   part ;    and,  considering   the    contingencies 
on  which  I  can  claim  my  compensation  and  the 
uncertainty  of  the  same  in  amount,  I  had  rather  decline. 


204  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XI. 

I  have  therefore  returned  the  volume  and  the  ten  dollars 
you  advanced  me.  If  what  I  have  already  done  can  be 
of  any  service  to  you,  I  shall  be  gratified.  I  think  it 
likely  you  may  think  strangely  of  this ;  but  if  you  do,  I 
cannot  prevent  it.  In  truth,  I  do  not  find  myself  capable 
of  such  severe  literary  labor  as  this  task  would  require 
of  me.  If  I  could  have  my  own  time  and  space  to  work 
in,  I  should  not  object. 

Yours, 

J.  G.  PERCIVAL. 

His  support  came  mainly  from  his  contributions,  always 
A  contributor  acceptable,  to  different  periodicals.  In  these  he 
periodicals,  competed  for  the  laurel-wreath  with  some  of  the 
chief  names  in  American  literature.  Bryant  and  Perci- 
val  were  at  this  time  the  two  leading  contributors  to  the 
United  States  Literary  Gazette,  edited  by  Mr.  J.  G.  Car 
ter.  In  him  Percival  found  a  congenial  companion  and 
intimate  friend.  In  one  of  his  letters  to  the  poet  he  thus 
alludes  to  the  enlarged  circulation  of  his  poetry :  "  I 
have  been  gratified  to  see  some  of  your  pieces  published 
in  our  Literary  Gazette  copied  into  the  London  Courier, 
the  great  organ  of  the  Ministerial  party."  The  other 
contributors  of  poetry  were  chiefly  Longfellow,  Dawes, 
and  Mellen ;  and  nearly  all  of  them,  living  mainly  by 
their  wits,  were  also  contributors  to  the  Boston  Spectator, 
then  published  by  Mr.  Charles  G.  Greene,  who  once  told 
me  that  he  used  to  have  a  poem  from  a  prime  poet  in 
every  number.  It  was  a  very  interesting  but  short-lived 
weekly  Review.  Percival's  genius  and  industry  were 
now  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  he  supplied  his  articles  in 
prose  and  verse  as  fast  as  the  printers  could  use  them. 
He  made  an  engagement  to  furnish  an  article  every  week 


o.l  ACQUAINTANCE   WITH  DR.   HAYWARD.    205 


for  the  Evening  Gazette  ;  and  he  was  also  a  regular  con 
tributor  of  poetry  to  the  Portsmouth  Journal.     Nor  this 
alone.     In  March,  1825,  he  engaged  upon  the 
revision  of  Knox's  Elegant  Extracts,  and  was 
frequently  asked  to  contribute  to  souvenirs  and  annuals. 
At  the  same  time  he  was  negotiating  with  Mr.  Gushing, 
President  of  Hampden-Sidney  College  in  Vir-  He  is  invited 

to  a  profes- 

mnia,  who  was  desirous  that  he  should  accept  sor^inp  iu  a 

Virginia 

a  professorship  of  the  languages  in  that  institu-  college. 
tion  ;  and  so  far  had  he  gone  in  encouraging  it,  that  the 
late  Bishop  Brownell  gave  him  a  letter  to  Dr.  Moore,  the 
Bishop  of  Virginia,  to  forward  his  plans.     But  finally  he 
did  not  go. 

His  frequent  and  excellent  communications  to  the 
Boston  journals  soon  extended  his  reputation  in  that  city  ; 
and  though  his  own  lodgings  were  humble,  his  poetical 
genius  gained  him  an  entrance  to  the  refined  and  intel 
lectual  families  in  Boston.  Dr.  George  Hayward  and 
Professor  George  Ticknor  became  his  faithful  New.ac_ 
and  intimate  friends,  and  he  found  many  a  <iu"illtance3- 
genial  welcome,  and  these  ever  warmer  and  warmer  the 
longer  he  stayed.  He  here  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
late  Rufus  Dawes,  whose  "  Spirit  of  Beauty  "  shows  him 
to  have  had  a  kindred  nature.  They  used  to  be  much 
together,  and  one  day  they  went  to  Nahant  to  enjoy  the 
delicious  change  of  the  cool  breezes  and  wild,  rocky, 
wave-beaten  heights.  In  rambling  about  they  entered  a 
cave  into  which  the  waves  came  roaring  and  dashing  with 
maddened  fury.  Both  were  excited,  but  Percival's  feel 
ings  broke  away  beyond  restraint,  and,  in  the  warm  confi 
dence  of  friendship,  took  the  shape  of  wild  and  passionate 
impromptu  poetry.  Mr.  Dawes  described  it  to  a  friend 
as  the  most  captivating  enchantment  he  ever  knew. 


206  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XI. 

When,  three  years  later,  Dawes  started  a  paper  of  his 
own  in  Baltimore,  The  Emerald,  Percival  was  true  to  his 
old  acquaintance,  and  sent  him  important  poetical  con 
tributions. 

The  poet's  eye  was  never  closed  to  the  charms  of 
Sonnet  to  beauty  in  woman;  and  in  the  drawing-rooms  of 

a  Boston  J 

beauty.  Boston  he  met  a  "  lady  of  surpassing  beauty," 
Miss  Emily  Marshall,  who  drew  from  him  the  following 
sonnet,  an  acrostic  tribute  :  — 

"  Earth  holds  no  fairer,  lovelier  one  than  thou, 
Maid  of  the  laughing  lip  and  frolic  eye! 

Innocence  sits  upon  thy  open  brow, 
Like  a  pure  spirit  in  its  native  sky. 

If  ever  beauty  stole  the  heart  away, 

Enchantress!  it  would  fly  to  meet  thy  smile; 

Moments  would  seem  by  thee  a  summer  day, 
And  all  around  thee  an  Elysian  isle. 

Roses  are  nothing  to  the  maiden  blush 
Sent  o'er  thy  cheek's  soft  ivory,  and  night 
Has  naught  so  dazzling  in  its  world  of  light 

As  the  dark  rays  that  from  thy  lashes  gush. 
Love  lurks  amid  thy  silken  curls,  and  lies 
Like  a  keen  archer  in  thy  kindling  eyes." 

It  gives  me  pleasure  to  continue  these  reminiscences  of 
his  residence  in  Boston,  from  the  concluding  part  of  Pro 
fessor  Fowler's  letter,  which  has  already  supplied  impor 
tant  links  in  this  biography  :  — 

Through  the  kindness  of  Dr.  Hay  ward,  just  before 
his  lamented  death,  I  received  by  express  forty-five  let 
ters  written  to  him  by  Percival,  chiefly  on  business.  To 
these  Dr.  Hayward  returned  answers,  which  are  among 
How  Dr.  the  letters  left  by  Percival.  In  a  letter  to  me, 
becimerd  dated  July  7,  1863,  he  informed  me  that  their 
his  friend.  acquaintance  began  in  the  year  1825.  He 
had  previously  read  several  pieces  of  poetry  that  had 


^S.]  ACQUAINTANCE  WITH  DR.  HAYWARD.  207 

appeared  in  the  Charleston  (S.  C.)  Courier.  When  he 
learned  that  Percival  was  in  Boston,  rather  destitute,  he 
sought  an  introduction  to  him,  and  found  him  in  very 
humble  lodgings,  but  no  doubt  the  best  that  his  means 
would  allow.  After  a  few  interviews  he  invited  him  to 
his  house.  He  at  once  accepted  the  invitation,  and  re 
mained  with  him  several  days. 

On  further  acquaintance  he  learned  that  his  income 
was  very  small  and  precarious,  depending  in  a  great 
measure,  if  not  entirely,  on  occasional  contributions  to 
two  or  three  literary  periodicals.  He  was  desirous  to  ob 
tain  some  more  permanent  employment,  from  which  he 
would  get  a  larger  compensation.  It  was  fortunately  in 
the  power  of  Dr.  Hay  ward  to  aid  him  in  this  way.  His 
friend,  the  late  Honorable  Samuel  Walker  of  Roxbury, 
Mass.,  was  desirous  of  publishing  a  new  edition  of  Knox's 
Elegant  Extracts,  and  wished  to  find  a  suitable  person  as 
editor.*  He  named  Percival  as  exactlv  the  Engages  as 

editor  of 

man.     An  arrangement  was  made  between  the  Knox's  Ele 
gant  Ex- 
parties,  but  the  compensation  he  offered  was  so  tracts; 

large  that  Percival  thought  it  would  never  be  paid.  Dr. 
Hayward  mentioned  this  to  Mr.  Walker.  He  said  at 

*  His  work  was  mainly  to  adapt  the  English  edition  to  the  Ameri 
can  public;  striking  out  much  that  was  simply  local  to  England,  and 
inserting  poetical  and  other  selections  from  American  literature.  It 
was  only  at  the  urgent  solicitation  of  the  publisher  that  he  was  will 
ing  to  insert  any  of  his  own  poetry.  These  extracts  were  the  early 
precursors  of  the  literary  cyclopaedias  which  are  so  numerous  in  this 
generation ;  and  I  am  sorry  to  add  that  this  edition,  on  which  Percival, 
amid  other  occupations,  was  engaged  some  eight  months,  and  in  which 
the  publisher  invested  some  two  thousand  dollars,  fell  almost  dead 
from  the  press.  The  reason  is  not  far  to  seek.  It  was  published  in 
six  8vo  volumes,  of  four  hundred  pages  each,  without  an  item,  save 
the  names  of  authors,  of  the  biographical  information  which  now 
makes  such  works  so  popular  and  entertaining. 


208  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XL 

once  that  he  would  put  the  whole  sum  into  Dr.  Hayward'a 
hands,  who  should  pay  for  each  volume  as  it  was  ready 
for  the  press.  This  was  done,  and  the  work  was  com 
pleted  in  a  short  time  to  the  satisfaction  of  both  parties ; 
and  Percival,  for  a  very  little  labor  and  trouble,  received 
probably  a  larger  sum  than  he  ever  had  before  for  his 
literary  labors. 

Soon  after  this  Mr.  Walker  proposed  to  issue  a  new 
Also  to  edit  edition  of  Malte-Brun's  Geography,  and  wished 
Maite-Brun.  DJ.  Hayward  to  apply  to  Percival  to  be  editor. 
He  agreed  to  the  proposition.  The  sum  to  be  paid  and 
the  mode  of  payment  were  thought  by  him,  as  well  as  by 
Dr.  Hayward,  to  be  ample  and  liberal  and  in  every  way 
satisfactory.  The  labor,  however,  proved  to  be  greater 
than  was  anticipated.  The  English  copy  from  which  this 
was  to  be  printed  was  very  badly  translated ;  in  that  not 
only  numerous  corrections  were  to  be  made,  but  in  several 
instances  a  new  translation  of  many  portions  was  to  be 
given.  It  appears  from  some  of  the  letters  in  my  posses 
sion,  already  referred  to,  that  Percival  became  very  much 
dissatisfied,  demanded  a  larger  sum  than  had  been  agreed 
upon  ;  and  even  after  the  work  was  partly  printed,  threat 
ened  to  give  up  all  connection  with  it.  Dr.  Hayward 
wrote  to  Percival  pretty  plainly  on  the  subject,  told  him 
that  he  had  expressed  his  entire  satisfaction  with  the 
terms,  that  the  additional  labor  he  had  voluntarily  as 
sumed,  and  that  he  was  bound  in  honor  to  finish  the  work. 
He  afterwards  became  more  reasonable,  and  wished  Dr. 
Hayward  to  say  to  Mr.  Walker  that  he  considered 
himself  entitled  to  additional  compensation.  Though 
the  sum  he  named  was  quite  large,  Mr.  Walker  at  once 
complied  ;  and  his  conduct  throughout  the  whole  affair 
W7as  not  only  liberal,  but  highly  honorable.  Dr.  Hayward 


JiJ  ACQUAINTANCE  WITH  DR.  HAYWARD.   209 


remarks,  with  great  propriety:  "This  edition  of  Malte- 
Brun  is,  in  my  opinion,  superior  to  any  in  the  language." 

Besides  this,  Percival  had  a  plan  for  publishing  a  peri 
odical  in  Boston,  that  was  to  be  issued  once  a  His  proposal 
week.  He  published  a  prospectus  *  that  had  ^cSdicai1!.? 
a  wide  circulation.  Dr.  Hay  ward  made  an  ar-  his  ovvu' 
rangement  with  a  responsible  publisher,  who  offered  to 
print  and  distribute  it,  collect  the  subscriptions,  subject 
the  editor  to  no  expense  or  liability,  and  give  him  one 
half  the  profits,  —  the  account-books  to  be  open  at  all  times 
for  his  inspection.  A  large  subscription  was  obtained ;  and 
when  his  friends  supposed  that  the  first  number  would 
soon  appear,  he  declined  having  anything  further  to  do 
with  it,  without  assigning  any  reason ;  and  the  whole  plan 
was  necessarily  abandoned. 

Another  thing  troubled  him,  and  he  wrote  to  Dr.  Hay- 
ward  to  settle  it  for  him  as  best  he  could.     He  His  contribu 
tions  to  the 
had  been  a  contributor  lor  some  time  to  the  Gazette. 

Evening  Gazette  of  Boston,  and  was  paid  liberally,  es 
pecially  as  the  articles  were  for  the  most  part  hasty  effu 
sions,  by  no  means  worthy  of  him.  In  his  letters  to  Dr. 
Hayward  he  wished  to  give  up  the  contract,  without  saying 

*  The  paper  was  to  be  issued  in  weekly  numbers  of  eight  octavo 
pages,  on  good  paper,  and  in  handsome  type.  It  was  to  cost  three  dol 
lars  a  year,  and  to  consist  entirely  of  original  articles.  Fercival  sent 
out  the  following  prospectus:  — 

"  The  Paper  will  consist  of  MISCELLANEOUS  ARTICLES,  ESSAYS, 
NARRATIVES,  CRITICISMS,  etc.,  —  whatever  may  be  interesting  to  the 
reading  public.  It  is  not  my  intention  to  confine  myself  within  any 
narrow  limits,  but  to  give  myself  '  verge  enough  '  to  introduce  any  sub 
ject  on  which  a  thinking  man  may  write  or  a  reflecting  man  may 
read.  Simply,  my  object  is  to  establish  a  literary  paper  of  my  own. 
Its  progress  will  depend  entirely  on  the  prospect  of  sufficient  patron 
age  to  warrant  me  in  undertaking  it. 

"J.  G.  PERCIVAL." 


210  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XI. 

why.  This  Dr.  Hayward  found  would  not  do  ;  and  he 
would  not  have  been  able  to  do  it,  if  Mr.  Clapp,  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  paper,  had  not  behaved  in  the  most  kind 
and  liberal  manner.  "  He  seemed  to  think,"  says  Dr. 
Hayward,  "  that  any  contract  he  made  was  only  binding 
on  the  party  with  whom  he  made  it,  but  not  on  him 
self.  He  knew  less  of  business  affairs  than  any  man  I 
ever  met,  and  was  suspicious  that  those  with  whom  he 
dealt  wished  to  overreach  him."  This  remark  coincides 
entirely  with  my  own  opinion. 

There  was  another  affair  mentioned  in  the  letters  that 
His  PW  Beta  f°r  a  ^me  annoyed  him  not  a  little.  He.  deliv- 
Kappa  poem.  ered  &  poem  bepore  the  phj  geta  Kappa  Society 

of  New  Haven,  but  found  no  one  willing  to  purchase  the 
copy  and  print  it.  He  wrote  to  Dr.  Hayward  that  he  had 
applied  to  several  publishers  in  New  York  *  and  New 
Haven,  without  success.  Dr.  Hayward  advised  him  to 
bring  the  manuscript  to  Boston,  and  intimated  that  some 
thing  might  probably  be  done  for  him  there.  He  did  so. 
He  named  the  sum  for  which  he  was  willing  to  sell  it. 
None  of  the  booksellers  were  inclined  to  purchase  it.  In 
conversation  with  a  few  of  his  friends,  it  was  arranged  to 
give  him  something  more  than  he  had  asked  for  the  copy, 
print  it,  give  him  as  many  copies  as  he  wished,  and  tell 
him  that  they  had  disposed  of  it.  This  was  done ;  and  he 
never  knew  that  it  was  not  disposed  of  to  some  publisher 
in  Boston.  "  The  poem,"  Dr.  Hayward  remarks,  "  though 
of  great  poetical  merit,  was  not  popular,  and  but  few 
copies  were  sold." 

Dr.  Hayward  further  says  in  his  letter  to  me :  "I  saw 
Dr.  Hay-  but  little  of  him  after  he  entered  on  his  Geolog- 
Sde9tfmate  ical  Survey  of  Connecticut,  nor  did  he  write  me 
of  him.  yery  Often<  But  I  know  enough  from  my  pre- 


Jt2!).]  ACQUAINTANCE  WITH  DR.  HAYWARD.   211 

vious  intimacy  with  him  to  be  satisfied  of  his  entire  purity 
of  character,  and  that  his  literary  and  scientific  attain 
ments  were  greater  than  those  of  any  man  I  ever  knew. 
His  knowledge  of  languages  was  almost  equal  to  that  of 
Cardinal  Mezzofanti ;  and  his  Geological  Survey,  Pro 
fessor  Silliman  told  me,  was  the  most  able  that  had  been 
made  in  our  own  country. 

"  Though  he  did  not  talk  often  with  me  on  religious 
subjects,  I  feel  very  sure  that  he  was  a  firm  believer  in 
the  Gospel  of  our  Saviour.  But  he  often  expressed  to 
me  an  utter  disgust  for  every  form  of  fanaticism,  bigotry, 
and  intolerance." 

During  the  time  covered  by  these  letters,  reaching 
from  1825  to  1834,  I  frequently  saw  Percival,  espe 
cially  while  he  was  engaged  upon  the  Dictionary.  In 
deed,  at  the  request  of  Dr.  Webber,  I  conversed  with 
him  on  the  difficulties  he  experienced  in  correcting  that 
work.  He  always  met  me  with  great  cordiality,  was 
generally  frank  and  communicative,  but  sometimes  ret 
icent  and  moody.  Everything  in  the  correspondence, 
as  well  as  in  my  own  knowledge  of  the  facts,  combines  to 
show  that  he  was  under  great  obligations  to  Dr.  Hay- 
ward,  who  treated  him  with  much  kindness  and  forbear 
ance,  and  who,  while  he  appreciated  his  high  qualities  and 
aided  in  their  development,  also  understood  thoroughly 
his  weakness,  and  with  a  firm  but  gentle  hand  imparted 
strength  to  him  for  the  performance  of  life's  duties. 

Percival's  mistakes  in  life  arose  out  of  his  excessive 
sensibility.  To  use  his  own  language,  his  agony  was 
the  rack  of  hell,  his  joy  the  thrill  of  heaven.  He  felt 
deeply  the  annoyances  of  practical  life.  His  agony  or 
his  joy  would  sometimes  throw  him  off  the  track.  But 
it  should  be  remembered  that  he  had  to  contend  with 


212  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XI. 

poverty,  ill  health,  and  depression,  and  that,  notwithstand 
ing  his  sensibility,  he  often  did  continue  to  move  on  the 
track  of  duty,  even  when  the  grades  were  high,  and  the 
curves  sharp,  and  the  road-bed  uneven. 

It  has  not  been  my  purpose  to  analyze  his  mind,  to  ex 
hibit  his  character,  but  only  to  present  certain  passages  in 
his  life  which  fell  under  my  own  observation.  I  have 
many  additional  facts  and  incidents  which  my  limits  will 
not  allow  me  to  introduce  in  this  letter.  I  feel  much 
tenderness  for  the  memory  of  Percival,  and  respect  and 
admiration  for  his  various  talents,  and  confidence  in  his 
moral  purposes.  His  peculiarities  have,  in  the  spirit  of 
the  times,  been  caricatured,  while  the  traits  which  he  had 
in  common  with  other  superior  men  have  been  ignored. 
He  united  great  intellectual  power  in  the  investigation  of 
science  and  great  knowledge  of  the  languages  with  "  the 
vision  and  faculty  divine  "  ;  so  that  he  was  at  once  phi 
losopher,  philologist,  and  poet.  He  was  conscious  of  his 
own  strength  and  his  own  weakness. 

"  There  is  a  middle  place  between  the  strong 
And  vigorous  mind  a  Newton  had, 
And  the  wild  ravings  of  insanity, 
Where  fancy  sparkles  with  unwearied  light, 
Where  memory's  scope  is  boundless,  and  the  fire 
Of  passion  kindles  to  a  wasting  flame ; 
But  will  is  weak,  and  judgment  void  of  power. 
Such  was  the  place  I  had." 

WILLIAM  C.  FOWLER. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

1825,  1826. 

CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  DR.  HAYWARD.  —  AN  EDITOR  IN  NEW 
YORK.  —  His  PHI  BETA  KAPPA  POEM:  AT  YALE.  —  How  FAR  PAT 
RONIZED  BY  THE  PEOPLE  AND  THE  GOVERNMENT.  —  THE  PREY 
OF  NEWSPAPER  SCRIBBLERS.  —  His  POEM  PUBLISHED  IN  BOSTON. 

N  June,  1825,  he  removed  from  Boston  to  his 
native  place,  where,  amid  some  unanticipated 
obstacles  to  his   quietness,  he   continued    his 
literary  labors.     He  then  began  the  following 
correspondence  :  — 


TO  GEOKGE  HAYWARD. 

BERLIN,  August  8,  1825. 

When  I  left  Boston  I  had  calculated  on  receiving  such 
a  sum  from  Carter  and  Clapp,  for  my  communi-  His  corre- 
cations  to  them,  as  would  have  made  my  resi-  JJJJ  ^e 
dence  here  safe  and  agreeable.     I  have  nothing  Hayward- 
to  complain  of  Carter.     He  has  faithfully  kept  his  word. 
My  agreement  with  Clapp  (not  written,  but  simply  verbal) 
was,  that  I  should  send  him  an  article  weekly,  which  he 
was  to  publish  and  pay  me  five  dollars  for,  —  at  the  rate 
of  a  shilling  a  line  for  thirty  lines.     If  my  articles  were 
longer,  they  were  to  be  rated  at  thirty  lines.     I  sent  him 
my  communications  regularly  till  I  found  he  would  not 


214  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XII. 

publish  them.  In  nine  weeks  he  has  published  but  four 
articles.  I  know  not  what  could  induce  him  to  do  this, 
unless  my  very  civilly  requesting  him  to  forbear  from  re 
marking  upon  me.  I  did  so  from  his  having  inserted  a 
puff  immediately  after  my  leaving  Boston.  I  requested 
him  to  forbear,  and  the  next  week  he  published  the  sub 
stance  of  my  request.  I  have  repeated  my  request.  While 
I  was  harassed  in  this  way  by  Clapp,  I  received  a  letter 
from  a  young  man  in  New  York,  George  Bond,  offering  me 
the  editorship  of  a  paper  he  had  just  established  in  New 
York,  with  a  salary  of  one  thousand  dollars  per  annum.  I 
have  been  to  New  York  since  I  received  your  letter,  but 
He  accepts  have  again  returned  here.  I  shall,  if  possible, 
ship^the  keep  my  ground  here  until  I  can  regain  a  better 
Athenaeum.  gtafce  Qf  health  than  what  I  have  now.  I  find 
that  I  cannot  live  in  a  city.  Somehow  I  become  wretched 
after  entering  one.  I  cannot  control  my  feelings.  In 
deed,  there  is  no  safety  for  me  unless  in  the  country. 

I  wish,  if  possible,  to  renew  my  arrangement  with 
Clapp.  He  must  have  understood  me,  I  am  sure,  when 
we  last  had  a  conversation  on  the  subject.  If  he  will 
observe  his  part  of  the  agreement,  he  need  not  fear  that 
I  shall  neglect  mine.  If,  however,  he  is  not  an  honorable 
man,  I  am  willing  to  dissolve  all  connection  with  him. 
His  neglect  to  observe  our  arrangement,  at  least  as  I  un 
derstood  it,  has  led  me  into  a  very  unfortunate  step,  from 
which  I  fear  I  am  not  yet  extricated.  I  have  not  yet 
completed  Walker's  book,  owing  to  the  unsettled  state  in 
which  I  have  been.  But  I  shall  immediately  apply  my 
self  to  it,  and  arrange  it  as  soon  as  I  can. 


LETTERS    TO    DR.    HAYWARD.  215 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

BERLIN,  August  20,  1825. 

I  shall  feel  much  obliged  if  you  can  arrange  the  settle 
ment  with  Walker,  without  the  necessity  of  my  visiting 
Boston.  However  much  I  might  be  gratified  by  visiting 
you  (and  I  assure  you  I  should  be  highly  so),  I  feel 
obliged  to  deny  myself.  I  would  willingly  live  entirely 
secluded  for  not  a  little  time.  I  hear  the  newspapers  are 
making  game  of  me,  though  I  have  seen  none  of  them. 
I  trust  your  opinion  of  me  will  not  be  altered  by  their 
defamation.  I  shall  try  to  disregard  them.  .... 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

BERLIN,  September  1,  1825. 

I  have  been  delayed  in  the  preparation  of  his  [Walk 
er's]  book  by  an  unfortunate  circumstance.  The  physi 
cian  of  the  place  died  about  two  weeks  since ;  and  I  have 
been  compelled,  against  my  wishes  and  in  spite  of  my 
refusal,  to  attend  some  patients.  I  have  thus  lost  several 
days,  and  may  not  be  ready  with  his  book  till  October ; 
but  I  shall  not  delay  it  unnecessarily.  I  have  He  accepts 

the  appoint- 

been  appointed  to  deliver  a  poem  before  the  mentof  PM 

-r»i  •    T>  TT-  TVT  TT  T  Beta  Kappa 

Jrhi  .Beta  Kappa  at  JNew  Haven,  and  am  re- poet  at  Yale, 
solved  to  appear  there,  particularly  as  so  many  liberties 
are  now  taken  with  me  by  newspaper  scribblers. 

You  have  requested  an  explanation  of  my  unfortunate 
affair  with  Bond  in  New  York.     When  I  came  And  explains 
here,  I  relied  on  receiving  five  dollars  a  week  JJ^jJS 
from  Clapp.     When  I  found  he  neglected  insert-  iQ  New  York' 
ing  my  articles,  and  took  unaccountable  liberties  with  my 


2l6  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XII. 

name,  in  his  paper,  you  may  judge  of  my  chagrin.  I 
have  been  from  the  first  and  am  still  very  disagreeably 
situated  here ;  certain  domestic  difficulties  have  contrib 
uted  not  a  little  to  my  uneasiness ;  but  these  I  cannot  de 
tail.  In  this  state  of  things  I  received  the  first  note  from 
Bond.  He  offered  me  one  thousand  dollars  per  annum 
for  the  editing  of  his  paper,  a  weekly  one  of  eight  pages ; 
and  at  the  same  time  stated  that  he  wished  me,  on  account 
of  my  reputation,  to  establish  his  paper.  I  saw  that  his 
motives  were  entirely  mercenary,  and  I  replied  that  I  did 
not  wish  to  engage  in  such  an  employment,  unless  I  could 
have  a  permanent  interest  in  it.  He  referred  me  for  a 
character  to  Wilder  and  Campbell,  respectable  booksellers 
in  New  York.  After  some  delay,  they  answered  me  that 
they  had  never  seen  nor  even  heard  of  Bond,  that  they 
knew  nothing  of  him,  that  they  had  inquired,  but  could 
gain  no  information,  and  that  they  thought  it  strange  he 
should  refer  me  to  them.  I  then  wrote  to  Stone,  editor 
of  the  Commercial  Advertiser,  requesting  information, 
and  at  the  same  time  stating  to  him  that  I  did  not  wish 
to  engage  unless  the  situation  was  permanent.  He  wrote 
me  that  he  had  learned  that  Bond's  character  and  circum 
stances  were  good,  and  advised  me  to  accept.  I  replied 
that  I  would  do  so,  if  Bond  would  guarantee  me  a  year's 
salary  in  case  of  his  failure  to  continue  before  the  agree 
ment  had  expired,  and  that  I  did  not  wish  to  engage,  if 
I  did  so  at  all,  for  less  than  two  or  three  years.  He 
wrote  me  that  he  had  told  Bond  that  his  oifers  were  ac 
cepted  by  me,  but  that  he  said  nothing  to  him  of  the  time 
or  the  guarantee,  nor  could  he  do  so.  He  stated  that  a 
Mr.  D.  Fountain,  of  whom  he  spoke  in  high  terms,  had 
highly  recommended  Bond  to  him,  and  that  I  must  ac 
cept,  if  I  did  so,  immediately.  I  had  informed  my  mother 


AN    EDITOR    IN    NEW    YORK.  217 

of  the  affair,  and  she  was  urgent  on  me  to  accept  it.  I 
told  her  it  would  not  be  wise  to  accept  it  without  a  guar 
anty,  and  that  I  did  not  wish  to  do  so  without  one. 
When  Stone's  last  reply  came,  she  still  urged  me,  and  in 
an  unfortunate  moment  I  consented  and  went  on  to  New 
York.  When  arrived,  I  called  on  Stone,  and  was  intro 
duced  by  him  to  Bond.  I  demanded  a  contract  for  two 
years,  without  reserve.  After  a  delay  of  nearly  a  week, 
a  contract  was  shown  me  for  two  years,  unless  Bond 
should  find  it  necessary  to  suspend  it  sooner.  In  an  un 
guarded  moment  I  signed  it.  In  fact,  I  felt  committed. 
I  had  been  disappointed  by  Clapp ;  I  was  very  uncom 
fortable  at  Berlin  ;  I  knew  hardly  where  to  turn.  I  acted 
blindly,  I  allow,  and  have  suffered  for  it.  After  I  was 
secured,  Bond  informed  me  he  had  concluded  to  enlarge 
his  paper  to  twelve  pages  weekly,  instead  of  eight.  The 
first  week  after  my  arrival  he  did  not  wish  me  to  engage 
in  the  paper.  I  simply  announced  myself  as  editor. 
The  paper  came  out,  and  I  found  a  scurrilous  attack  on 
the  Literary  Gazette,  in  which  Bond  knew  I  was  engaged. 
I  remonstrated  plainly,  and  showed  him  how  much  I  felt 
it  an  ungenerous  attack  on  my  feelings.  He  excused 
himself  by  his  obligations  to  a  correspondent  who  had 
furnished  it,  though  I  still  think  his  object  was  to  force 
me  to  a  rupture  with  the  Gazette.  I  found  now  that 
Bond,  in  addition  to  his  great  youth,  —  I  should  not  think 
him  twenty -two,  —  was  without  firmness  or  independence 
at  least,  and  I  could  not  abandon  all  other  resources  and 
throw  myself  entirely  on  his  mercy.  I  became  miserable 
and  immediately  retired.  I  wrote  him  a  confidential  let 
ter,  which  he  has  published,  not  entire,  but  garbled  so  as 
to  suit  his  purpose.  He  has  thus  made  me  speak  the 
language  of  unqualified  self-condemnation,  which  is  not 
10 


218  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XII- 

to  be  found  in  the  original.  There  are  various  things  in 
the  published  letter  not  in  the  original.* 

Such  are  the  facts  of  the  case,  I  believe,  faithfully 
stated.  I  leave  the  decision  to  you.  I  was  very  careful 
to  do  nothing  to  injure  Bond,  and  for  that  reason  I  wrote 
so  frank  and  confidential  a  letter.  Stone  has  stated  one 
thing  in  his  remarks  which  may  lead  to  a  mistake.  He 
said  Bond  took  a  room  for  me.  Bond  made  inquiries, 
but  I  took  the  room  and  paid  for  it  myself  in  advance. 
He  cannot  say  that  I  have  caused  him  directly  the  loss 
of  a  cent. 

I  have  observed  a  very  impertinent  article  in  the  Port 
land  Argus,  perhaps  from  the  same  fellow  who  took  such 

*  The  following  is  the  published  and  garbled  letter:  — 

NEK-  YORK,  August  6,  1825. 
SIR,— 

1  scarcely  know  how  to  introduce  the  subject  of  this  note  to  you. 
I  feel  entangled  in  one  of  the  most  disagreeable  dilemmas  in  which 
I  ever  found  myself.  But  to  be  brief,  I  find  myself  under  the  neces 
sity  of  returning  the  contract.  This  depends  so  much  on  circum 
stances  which  I  cannot  well  explain,  that  I  can  hardly  hope  to  make 
myself  intelligible  to  you.  A  principal  reason  is  my  health.  I  had 
retired  into  the  country  on  account  of  it  before  you  wrote  to  me,  and 
I  now  find  that  on  that  account  alone,  I  have  done  very  wrong  in  en 
gaging  in  this  affair.  I  am  persuaded  that,  should  I  continue  in  it,  I 
should  neither  do  you  any  service  nor  myself  any  credit.  I  shall 
suffer  much  as  it  is,  but  I  know  not  that  I  can  do  anything  better  than 
make  an  immediate  retreat.  I  know  I  lay  myself  open  to  you.  I 
shall  be  very  sorry  to  do  you  an  injury.  I  feel  sensible,  too,  that  this 
closes  the  way  on  me  to  all  similar  offers  in  future;  but  yet  I  cannot 
see  any  safer  step  than  for  me  to  retire  at  once.  I  give  you  my  as 
surance  that  I  have  not  intended  in  any  respect  to  injure  or  deceive 
you :  what  I  did,  I  meant  in  good  faith.  I  have  been  without  decision, 
and  my  coming  here  is  one  of  the  worst  instances  of  it.  I  cannot  con 
tinue  on  such  a  subject. 

Yours  respectfully, 

JAMES  G.   PERCIVAL. 

ME.  GEORGE  BOND. 


PATRONIZED    BY    THE    PEOPLE.  219 

liberties  with  me  in  Boston  last  spring.  I  should  not 
notice  it,  but  for  the  falsehood  it  contains.  He  says  I 
have  been  patronized  by  the  people  and  the  government, 
that  the  government  gave  me  the  place  at  West  Point, 
which  I  left  after  a  few  weeks,  and  then  supplied  me  with 
a  very  desirable  place  in  the  Navy- Yard  at  Charlestown, 
which  I  also  ran  away  from,  all  from  caprice.  HOW  he  was 
As  for  the  patronage  of  the  people,  the  facts  are  by*the  peo- 
these.  I  was  prevented  by  very  unfortunate  cir-  ple' 
cumstances  from  engaging  in  my  profession  for  eighteen 
months  after  I  took  my  degree  of  M.  D.  Wearied  with 
delay,  I  published  my  first  volume  of  poems  at  my  own 
expense,  two  hundred  and  thirty  dollars,  and  advanced 
money  for  it.  I  lost  money  by  it.  I  published  the  second 
volume  on  a  contract.  I  never  have  been  able  to  effect 
a  settlement.  I  have  received  for  it  thirty  dollars  and  a 
few  copies.  For  the  third  volume,  which  I  sold  out  in  ad 
vance,  I  received  one  hundred  and  twenty  dollars.  The 
fourth  volume  I  published  at  my  own  expense.  It  cost 
me  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  Almost  the 
whole  edition  remains  on  my  hands  unsold.  I  have  lost 
money  by  it.  The  new  edition  selected  from  all  these, 
published  by  Wiley  on  contract,  I  have  never  yet  effected 
a  settlement  on.  I  have  received  only  copies  which  I 
have  disposed  of  to  my  particular  friends,  and  sixty  dol 
lars,  which  I  was  obliged  to  expend  while  preparing  the 
edition  and  superintending  the  press.  You  see  from  this 
that  it  is  perfectly  ridiculous  to  say  I  have  been  patron 
ized  by  the  American  people.  I  have  received  marks  of 
kindness  from  my  friends  in  Boston,  but  this  does  not 
constitute  the  American  people.  However  great  the 
wishes  of  these  friends,  their  means  of  patronage  have  been 
limited.  I  feel  the  highest  gratitude  to  them  for  what 


220  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [ CHAP.  XII. 

they  have  done,  but  none  to  the  people.  All  the  patron 
age  I  have  received  from  them  was  to  be  damned  by  the 
praise  of  newspapers,  or  to  be  seduced  from  more  profit 
able  employment  by  the  commendation  I  received,  and 
thus  involved  in  difficulties ;  and  when  thus  involved,  to  be 
insulted  by  the  talk  of  patronage  !  I  know  what  is  pat 
ronage,  and  I  know  I  have  never  been  patronized  by  the 
people.  All  I  have  ever  received  from  the  sale  of  my 
poems  has  been  insufficient  to  meet  my  most  stinted 
wants.  I  have  never  been  extravagant. 

As  for  the  patronage  of  the  government,  it  is  simply 
And  by  the    this.     I  had  edited  a  newspaper  devoted  to  Mr. 

government.    Calhoun<         A     friend     of     mine>    happening     in 

Washington,  was  introduced  to  Mr.  Calhoun,  and  turning 
the  conversation  on  this  subject,  succeeded  in  interesting 
him  in  me.  He  then  wrote  me  that  he  was  authorized  to 
offer  me  the  place  I  had  at  West  Point,  that  it  was  a 
place  of  slight  duties,  great  leisure,  and  just  the  place  I 
wanted  for  my  literary  pursuits.  He  hinted  that  it  would 
be  an  acceptable  return,  if  I  would  use  my  pen  in  the 
cause  of  Mr.  Calhoun.  This  between  us.  I  wrote  that 
I  would  accept  the  place  if  it  was  such,  and  distinctly 
stated  that  I  was  very  desirous  of  a  situation  where  I 
could  continue  my  literary  pursuits  undisturbed  (they 
were  then  my  only  ambition),  but  that  I  was  ill  calculated 
to  fill  a  chair  of  chemistry,  as  I  had  never  been  employed 
in  a  laboratory,  and  had  no  practice  in  experimenting. 
This  I  was  assured  would  be  no  obstacle.  I  was  ap 
pointed,  and  went  to  West  Point,  and  then  for  the  first 
time  learned  the  real  duties  of  the  place.  They  required 
constant  and  severe  labor  for  ten  mouths  in  a  year.  No 
time  for  preparation  was  allowed  me.  I  saw  that  I  must 
abandon  the  place,  or  abandon  my  literary  pursuits,  or  do 


PATRONIZED    BY    GOVERNMENT.  221 

the  greatest  violence  to  my  feelings.  I  consulted  some 
of  the  first  gentlemen  in  the  country  and  the  officers  in 
the  Academy  on  the  subject,  and  they  all  pronounced  it 
a  mistake,  and  recommended  me  to  resign.  I  made  a  full 
and  frank  statement  to  Mr.  Calhoun,  and  tendered  my 
resignation.  He  expressed  himself  perfectly  satisfied, 
and  received  it.  He  then  offered  me  the  choice  of  retain 
ing  my  commission  of  Surgeon  in  the  army,  subject  to 
perpetual  change  of  place  according  to  orders,  or  if  I 
wished  a  permanent  situation,  to  resign  my  commission 
and  take  the  situation  of  critical  inspector  of  recruits  at 
Boston,  employed  on  contract.  I  was  assured  I  might 
rely  on  the  permanence  of  the  situation.  I  resigned  my 
commission,  and  accepted  the  place  at  Boston.  I  thus 
gave  up  a  permanent  leisure  and  one  half  my  salary  for 
a  fixed  residence.  I  was  at  considerable  trouble  and  ex 
pense  in  removing  to  Boston.  While  on  a  salary  of  five 
.hundred  dollars,  I  was  obliged  to  be  in  constant  waiting, 
to  strip  and  examine  all  the  vagabonds  they  chose  to 
bring  me.  I  had  just  settled  myself  in  Boston,  when,  in 
the  middle  of  a  Northern  winter,  the  government  abolished 
the  recruiting  establishment,  dismissed  me  without  a 
moment's  warning  or  a  word  of  explanation,  and  left  me 
without  resources  among  strangers.  I  have  heard  noth 
ing  from  them  since.  So  much  for  the  patronage  of  the 
government.  I  do  not  feel  toward  it  a  very  burdensome 
debt  of  gratitude.  I  have  been  assured  from  high  au 
thority  that  it  was  the  general  understanding  at  Washing 
ton,  that  in  giving  me  the  place  at  West  Point,  they  were 
giving  me  a  place  where  my  poetical  talents  might  have 
full  leisure  and  free  space  to  expatiate.  I  certainly  had 
great  expectations  raised.  Hence  you  may  judge  of  my 
disappointment  when  I  found  the  truth.  I  resigned  the 


222  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XII. 

place  with  the  advice  and  sanction  of  Mr.  Silliraan  and 
Professor  Kingsley  of  New  Haven,  Colonel  Dwight  of 
Stockbridge,  and  Lieutenant- Governor  Tallmadge  of 
New  York,  among  others.  I  write  these  full  statements 
of  public  patronage  for  you  to  make  corrections.  You 
are  at  liberty  to  do  so  through  the  medium  of  Mr.  Hale's 
paper. 

N.  B.  —  I  forgot  to  state  that  I  found  D.  Fountain  was 
Bond's  printer. 

To  this  Dr.  Hayward  thus  replied  :  — 

BOSTON,  September  20,  1825. 

DEAR  DOCTOR,  — 

I  received  your  letter  some  time  since,  containing  an 
account  of  the  New  York  affair,  and  am  rejoiced  to  find 
that  you  had  such  good  reasons  for  adopting  the  course  you 
did  in  relation  to  Bond.  In  a  strict  legal  sense,  the  con 
tract  was  perhaps  obligatory  ;  but  after  the  appearance  of 
the  offensive  article  in  his  paper,  the  intention  to  enlarge 
Dr  Hayward  it,  etc.,  etc.,  I  do  not  think  it  was  morally  so. 

helps  to  re 
fute  public     I  consulted   Mr.  Hale   respecting   some  public 

against  him.  statement  in  relation  to  you ;  and  we  thought  it 
best  to  have  it  done  in  an  editorial  article,  as  such  a  one 
would  carry  with  it  more  weight  than  anything  from  an 
anonymous  correspondent.  He  has  delayed  doing  it 
merely  till  he  could  hear  of  your  having  delivered  the 
<£  B  K  poem,  and  intends  to  avail  himself  of  the  occa 
sion  when  he  announces  that  fact.  We  thought  this  would 
be  better  than  to  do  it  in  a  more  formal  way,  as  nothing 
has  of  late  been  said  in  the  paper  which  has  come  to  our 
knowledge.  It  is  very  singular  that  Mr.  Hale  has  as 
yet  received  no  paper  from  New  Haven  mentioning  the 


PREY    OF    NEWSPAPER    SCRIBBLERS.     223 

*  B  K  celebration,  though  the  fact  that  you  delivered  the 

poem  is  stated  in  the  Boston  Patriot  to-day 

GEORGE  HAYWARD. 


The  editorial  of  Mr.  Hale,  which  appeared  two  days 
later  in  the  Advertiser,  using  the  facts  contained  in  Per- 
civaPs  recent  letter,  did  much  to  correct  the  mistaken 
impressions  which  had  got  abroad  concerning  him,  and 
was  at  once  kind  and  just.  A  few  words  from  it  are  in 
teresting,  as  showing  how  aptly  Mr.  Hale  repelled  the 
assaults,  without  wounding  the  feelings  of  the  poet. 

"  DR.  PERCIVAL.  —  We  have  been  sorry  to  see  the 
freedom  with  which  this  gentleman  has  been  Kindness  of 
brought  before  the  public.  At  one  time  he  has  Mr' Hale' 
been  represented  as  an  object  of  chanty,  and  pining  in 
obscurity  for  want  of  notice  and  patronage ;  at  another, 
as  a  person  on  whom  the  patronage  of  the  government 
and  of  the  people  has  been  extravagantly  bestowed ;  and 
again,  as  a  person  not  in  his  right  mind.  These  publica 
tions  have  tended  to  give  a  very  false  impression  of  his 
situation  and  his  character  ;  and  it  is  easy  to  imagine,  that, 
to  a  person  of  retired  habits  and  disposition,  and  of  a  nice 
sense  of  character,  they  must  have  given  great  pain.  He 
has  done  nothing  to  justify  the  exposure  of  his  private 
concerns  before  the  public,  even  if  it  had  been  done 
fairly ;  much  less  has  he  done  anything  to  provoke  the 
extravagant  and  unfounded  representations  to  which  we 
allude.  In  becoming  an  author,  he  threw  his  works  be 
fore  the  public,  to  be  dealt  with  as  they  should  see  fit ; 
but  for  himself,  it  must  be  evident,  to  every  one  acquainted 
with  his  character,  that  his  greatest  desire  is  to  live  re 
tired  from  the  public  gaze.  He  is  able  and  willing  to 
earn  an  honorable  support  by  his  talents  and  industry ;  for 


224  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [ CHAP.  XII. 

he  is  distinguished  not  only  for  his  fine  taste  and  poetical 
genius,  but  for  his  varied  acquirements,  particularly  in 
several  branches  of  science  ;  and  they  have  greatly  mis 
taken  his  situation  and  his  wishes,  who  have  presented 
any  claims  in  his  favor  not  founded  on  his  actual  ser 
vices.  On  the  other  hand,  there  has  been  nothing  to  be 
envied  in  the  liberality  of  the  patronage  which  has  been 
bestowed  upon  him." 

In  quite  a  different  tone  is  the  following  taken  from  the 
Connecticut  Herald  of  September  20,  1825.  Percival 
was  always  unfortunate  in  his  delivery ;  but  this,  and  the 
added  notice  cut  from  the  letter  of  a  New  Haven  corre 
spondent  of  the  Boston  Centinel,  betray  almost  a  personal 
venom  and  spite.  The  wonder  is  that  he  could  have  ap 
peared  in  public  at  all,  when  his  private  life  had  been  so 
ruthlessly  exposed  to  a  morbid  curiosity  :  — 

"  It  appears  by  the  report  of  the  proceedings  of  the 
Comments  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  that  the  poem  of  Dr. 
livery  of  his  Percival  fully  sustained  *  the  high  reputation  he 
has  already  acquired.'  Whether  the  observation 
is  intended  to  apply  to  his  'high  reputation'  for  taciturnity, 
moroseness,  contempt  of  propriety  and  of  public  opinion, 
or  to  his  character  as  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman,  we  can 
not  say ;  but  we  can  say,  that  any  person  was  singularly 
fortunate  who  could  discover  from  the  delivery  of  the 
poem  that  it  had  any  character  at  all.  Not  one  word 
of  it  was  heard  by  most  of  the  audience ;  and  we  believe 
few  individuals  heard  enough  of  it  to  determine  either 
the  nature,  scope,  or  subject  of  the  poem.  It  was  hurried 
over  with  all  the  volubility  his  tongue  was  master  of,  ap 
parently  without  the  least  regard  to  emphasis,  cadence,  or 
perspicuity,  and  this  obviously  designed.  The  difference 
between  this  attempt  of  Dr.  Percival  and  that  of  last  year 


taiJ     PREY    OF    NEWSPAPER    SCRIBBLERS.     225 


before  the  Harvard  Society  is,  that  in  the  first  case  he 
ran  away  from  his  audience,  and  in  the  second  the  audi 
ence  ran  away  from  him." 

The  implication  in  this  last  sentence,  that  he  ran  away 
from  his  audience,  is  hardly  true.  He  had  been  appointed 
in  May,  1824,  to  deliver  the  poem  at  the  meeting  of  the 
Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  at  Harvard  University  in  the 
following  August,  when  Edward  Everett  was  to  deliver 
the  oration.*  He  returned  a  favorable  answer.  But 
after  waiting  some  time,  he  sent  the  member  of  the  So 
ciety's  committee  appointed  to  confer  with  him  the  fol 
lowing  letter,  declining  the  appointment. 


TO  G.  MOKEY,  JR. 

July  24,  1824. 

SIR, — 

I  am  unwilling  that  the  *  B  K  Society  should  be  dis 
appointed  by  the  encouragement  I  gave  them  He  declines 
of  appearing  at  the  anniversary  in  August,  and  rU  Beta  ap- 
yet  the  circumstances  under  which  I  have  been,  pou 
and  am  now,  placed  render  me  equally  unwilling  to  ap 
pear  there.  I  presume,  by  your  letter,  that  you  are  anx 
ious  that  the  place  should  be  filled  by  some  one.  If  it  be 
not  too  late  to  supply  my  place,  it  will  give  me  no  little 
satisfaction  ;  for  it  is  really  altogether  against  my  present 
wishes  to  appear  before  the  Society.  I  would  have  done 
this  earlier,  but  it  is  now  only  a  few  days  since  I  have 

*  He  had  a  future  opportunity,  which  he  improved,  of  acting  his 
part  in  the  same  scene  with  Mr.  Everett.  It  was  at  the  celebration  of 
the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  battle  of  Lexington,  at  Concord,  Mass., 
April  19,  1825,  when  Mr.  Everett  delivered  the  oration  and  Percival 
furnished  the  ode,  though  it  is  not  certain  that  he  was  present  in 
person. 

10*  O 


226  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XII. 

been  in  a  situation  to  decide,  and  I  have  taken  the  first 
opportunity  to  give  you  this  notice. 
Yours,  etc., 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

12  Chambers  Street,  Boston. 

He  thus  missed,  perhaps,  the  most  cultured  audience 
What  he  lost  and  the  finesfc  opportunity  to  enlarge  his  repu 
tation  then  to  be  found  in  our  country.  The 
New  Haven  correspondent  of  the  Boston  Centinel  wrote 
thus  :  — 

"You  will  doubtless  desire  to  hear  how  our  eccentric  and 
Another  cor-  bashful  friend  Percival  succeeded  in  his  Phi 
respondent.  -getSL  j£appa  poem.  We  found  much  difficulty 

in  getting  the  Doctor  into  the  desk.  He  positively  re 
fused  to  proceed,  declaring  the  audience  already  to  have 
been  satiated  with  literary  food;  and  some  compulsion 
was  necessary  to  urge  him  on.  At  length  he  made  his 
appearance,  and  every  exertion  was  made  to  encourage 
him.  But  all  was  in  vain.  He  commenced  and  hurried 
over  something,  but  what  not  ten  persons  in  the  house 
could  hear  or  understand,  delivered  in  a  key  evidently 
pitched  so  low  as  not  to  be  audible.  It  certainly  was 

'  The  story  of  the  bear  and  fiddle,  — 
Begun  and  broke  off  in  the  middle.' 

Better  things  were  expected  of  him  by  some  of  us,  as  it 
was  a  voluntary  offering  on  his  part.  Had  he  been 
chosen  to  the  part,  a  disappointment  might  have  been  an 
ticipated.  But  he  was  a  volunteer,  and  an  exertion  was 
expected  from  him  to  regain  lost  ground.  The  scene, 
however,  was  a  laughable  one ;  and  he  has  had  sense 
enough  to  see  the  point  of  the  allusion  in  one  of  the 
toasts,  — 


PREY    OF    NEWSPAPER    SCRIBBLERS.     227 

'  Strange  that  a  harp  of  thousand  strings 
Should  keep  in  tune  so  long.'  " 

The  toast  was  offered  by  "  a  facetious  ex-Governor  of 
Connecticut,"  the  Honorable  Charles  H.  Pond.  An  ex 
tract  from  a  letter  dated  New  Haven,  October  1,  1825, 
and  written  to  Percival  by  his  friend,  the  late  Dr.  Charles 
Hooker,  explains  the  cause  of  much  of  the  hostility  now 
shown  to  him  :  — 

"  Judge  Gould's  oration  is  now  in  the  press ;  and  it 
would  be  well  to  have  your  poem  come  out  about  The  hostility 

,  to  him  ex- 

the  same  time  with  that.  You  have  probably  plained. 
learned  before  this  that  it  was  Woodward,  and  not  Con 
verse,  that  came  out  upon  you.  He  last  week  copied 
a  little  paragraph  from  the  Boston  Centinel,  purporting  to 
be  a  letter  from  New  Haven,  stating  that  your  poem  was 
a  voluntary  offering,  and  that  Mr.  Pond's  toast  had  a  sar 
castic  allusion,  etc.  Mr.  Twining  told  me  to-day  that  he 
should  hand  an  article  to  Woodward,  correcting  his  mis 
representations.  Mr.  Twining  does  this  at  the  request 
of  Judge  Gould,  who  is  much  offended  at  the  course 
Woodward  has  taken.  The  general  remark  with  regard 
to  Woodward's  asperity  is,  that  it  all  arises  from  a  private 
pique,  the  cause  of  which  is  pretty  generally  known. 
Mr.  Pond  has  requested  me  to  state,  through  the  medium 
of  some  paper,  that  nothing  was  more  remote  from  his 
mind  than  any  sarcastic  allusion,  and  that  he  regrets  the 
jealousy  which  should  give  his  sentiment  such  a  construc 
tion.  Mr.  Hale,  of  the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser,  has 
come  out  with  a  very  handsome  article  in  opposition  to 
the  misrepresentations  which  have  been  made  concerning 

you  in  some  papers You  will  not,  I  am  sure,  in  the 

long  run,  receive  any  disadvantage  from  the  calumnies 
which  have  been  aimed  at  you.  You  have  taken  the 
wisest  course,  —  to  be  silent  with  regard  to  them." 


228  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XII. 

In  a  letter  written  a  few  weeks  later,  Dr.  Hooker 
He  is  set  soothes  the  wounded  feelings  of  the  poet  with 
wfufthf111  this  cheering  news:  "Be  assured  the  general 
public.  feeling  of  the  public  is  altogether  in  your  favor, 
and  the  cause  of  the  asperity  which  has  been  shown  by 
a  few  editors  is  well  understood.  You  have  many  warm 
friends  in  this  town  [New  Haven],  who  frequently  in 
quire  concerning  you."  To  show  that  the  poem  was  not 
a  voluntary  offering,  I  have  before  me  the  letter  written 
to  him  by  the  Secretary  of  the  Society,  in  which  he  says : 
"  The  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  at  a  late  meeting  ap 
pointed  you  to  deliver  a  poem  at  the  ensuing  Commence 
ment The  Society  are  anxious  to  avail  themselves 

of  your  poetical  talents,  and  hope  you  have  something  on 
hand  which,  without  material  change,  will  be  adapted  to 
the  occasion."  Dr.  Hayward  adds  a  word  in  a  letter 
dated,  Boston,  October  24,  1825,  concerning  the  public 
feeling  towards  him :  "  The  editorial  remarks  of  Mr. 
Hale,  and  the  extract  which  he  made  from  a  New  Haven 
paper,  have  removed,  if  there  existed,  any  unfavorable 
impressions  from  the  minds  of  all  whose  opinions  would 
be  of  the  slightest  value." 

In  a  letter  from  Dr.  Hayward,  dated  September  22, 
1825,  there  occurs  the  following  passage,  relating  to  a 
settlement  in  Cambridge  already  proposed  by  Dr.  Gil- 
nian,  and  to  his  recent  poem  :  — 

"  It  has  occurred  to  me  that  you  would  find  Cambridge 
Mr.  iiayward  a  pleasant  place  of  residence.  You  could  board 

SeilJ0140  m  the  house  in  the  Botanic  Garden,  in  corn- 
Cambridge.  pany  with  Mr  Nuttall>  or  you  could  take  lodg. 

ings  in  any  place  you  pleased  and  board  in  commons,  so 
that  your  expenses  would  be  as  moderate,  probably,  as 
anywhere  in  the  country ;  while  you  could  enjoy  as  much 


^twJ  LETTERS    TO    DR.    HAYWARD.  229 

or  as  little  literary  society  as  you  wanted,  attend. such  lec 
tures  as  you  chose  to,  and  have  free  access  to  the  College 
Library.  Perhaps  I  am  a  little  selfish  in  this,  knowing 
that  your  removal  there  would  bring  you  nearer  to  town, 
and  of  course  give  ine  an  opportunity  of  occasionally 
enjoying  the  pleasure  of  your  society,  the  deprivation  of 
which  I  have  felt  very  sensibly.  I  hope  you  will  think 
of  this,  and  I  will  ascertain  everything  for  you  in  rela 
tion  to  the  expense  you  may  desire  to  know,  if  you  should 
request  it.  I  am  rejoiced  that  you  delivered  your  poem 
at  New  Haven.  I  feel  very  desirous  to  see  it,  and  I  hope 
you  have  made  no  arrangements  there  that  will  prevent 
us  from  publishing  it  here.  I  speak  merely  on  your 
account,  for  the  credit  will  equally  belong  to  that  institu 
tion  whether  the  poem  is  published  here  or  there ;  but 
I  think  more  purchasers  will  be  found  here.  Your  poetry 
is  nowhere  better  relished  or  more  highly  appreciated 
than  in  Boston.  You  was  very  respectfully  noticed  in  a 
toast  at  our  $  B  K  celebration,  which  I  afterwards  learned 
was  from  the  Rev.  Mr.  Ware,*  who,  by  the  way,  is  a 
great  admirer  of  yours. 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

HARTFORD,  October  8,  1825. 

I  have  at  last  completed  the  Extracts,  and  with  no  little 
satisfaction.  It  is  not  a  task  I  wish  to  repeat,  although 
I  am  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  compensation  I  receive. 
The  English  edition  was  not  satisfactory  to  me.  I  did 
not  like  the  selection,  and  thought  it  an  unfortunate  basis  to 
bring  out  an  edition  on ;  but  I  have  done  with  it  as  well 

*  The  Rev.  Henry  Ware,  Jr. 


230  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XII. 

as  I  could  under  such  circumstances.  I  hope  Walker 
will  be  satisfied  with  it,  and  that  there  will  be  no  difficulty 
on  the  subject  between  him  and  me I  have  re 
flected  further  on  your  proposal  to  settle  in  Cambridge. 
Declines  to  go  I  think  it  will  not  be  wise.  If  I  were  contented 

to  Cambridge, 

and  tears  he    to  rely  on  my  pen,  1  am  persuaded  there  is  no 

must  give  up  . 

literature.  other  place  in  America  where  I  could  do  it  with 
any  safety  but  in  the  vicinity  of  Boston ;  but  I  am  quite 
convinced  that  if  I  wish  ever  to  feel  anything  like  security 
and  independence,  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  abandon 
my  pen  altogether.  I  am  serious  in  this.  I  did  hope 
that  I  should  realize  something  better  from  my  literary 
reputation  than  I  have  yet  realized  or  have  any  prospect 
of  realizing;  but  I  have  no  longer  any  such  hopes.  I 
thought  last  spring,  that,  if  I  could  settle  myself  in  the 
country  on  such  an  income  as  I  thought  I  might  have  from 
my  contributions  to  periodicals  in  Boston,  that  I  might 
live  pleasantly  and  respectably,  but  I  have  been  hitherto 
quite  disappointed.  I  went  to  Berlin  because  it  was  my 
native  place,  and  because  I  had  connections  there  ;  but  as 
yet  I  have  found  nothing  but  disquiet  and  mortification. 
My  prospects  there  I  cannot  say  are  much  improved.  I 
do  not  yet  abandon  all  hopes  of  accomplishing  the  object 
for  which  I  went  there,  nor  do  I  wish  to  leave  there  till 
I  have  made  a  further  trial.  If  I  leave  there,  I  said  in 
my  former  letter,  perhaps  foolishly  or  at  best  unwisely, 
that  I  did  not  wish  to  do  it  unless  on  an  expedition  of 
profit  or  fame.  I  should  not  go  anywhere  in  search  of 
fame  unless  to  Europe,  and  for  that  I  do  not  feel  prepared. 
The  public  feeling  toward  me  here  is  so  poisoned,  that  if 
I  should  write  better  than  poet  ever  did,  it  would  avail 
me  nothing.  If  I  go  in  search  of  profit,  I  think  I  must 
engage  as  a  teacher  in  some  classical  school.  I  look  to 


LETTERS    TO    DR.    HAYWARD.  231 

that  as  my  last  resort.  I  have  no  wish  to  have  any 
further  dealings  directly  with  printers,  booksellers,  or 
publishers,  in  any  shape.  I  have  not  prepared  ray  poem 
yet  for  the  press.  If  I  do,  I  am  inclined  to  send  it  to 
you  to  be  published  in  Boston,  if  you  can  find  one  to  un 
dertake  it  there  on  favorable  terms  for  me 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

HARTFORD,  October  13,  1825. 

I  am  at  present  engaged  on  a  short  task  for  Mr.  Good 
rich,*  now  in  Boston.     When  that  is  completed,  About  hig 
I  will  apply  myself  to  my  poem,  and  transmit  poem- 
it  to  you,  if  I  can  satisfy  myself  with  its  execution.     It 
at  present  needs  some  improvement.     I  am,  however,  in 
clined  to  publish  it 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

BERLIN,  November  7,  1825. 

I  have  delayed  answering  your  letter  a  few  days,  from 
the  uncertainty  of  my  situation  at  the  time  I  received  it. 
A  proposition  was  made  me  which  I  will  com- A  proposition 

to  travel  in 

mumcate  to  you  sub  rosa.  It  was  proposed  that  Europe. 
I  should  go  out  to  Europe  on  the  following  conditions. 
Eight  hundred  dollars  to  be  advanced  me  for  my  passage 
and  the  British  Islands,  in  which  I  was  to  spend  six 
months,  and  send  home  my  journal  of  at  least  six  hundred 
such  pages  as  the  North  American,  though  eight  hundred 

*  The  late  Hon.  S.  G.  Goodrich,  well  known  as  "  Peter  Parley"  to 
the  grown-up  children  of  to-day. 


232  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XIL 

would  be  expected  if  they  could  be  supplied.  I  was  to 
give  up  the  copyright  for  the  eight  hundred  dollars  ad 
vanced.  If  this  succeeded,  then,  on  receiving  five  hundred 
dollars,  I  was  to  go  to  France  and  spend  six  months,  and 
send  home  the  same  number  of  pages ;  the  same  for  Ger 
many,  and  so  on.  After  deliberating  some  time,  I  de 
clined  it.  I  thought  the  number  of  pages  too  great  for 
the  time,  and  the  compensation  too  small  for  the  number 
of  pages.  Besides,  I  am  now,  for  the  first  time  for  many 
years,  in  a  situation  at  all  settled  and  free  from  embarrass 
ment  ;  and  I  have  now  an  opportunity  which  I  might  not 
have  again  to  collect  myself  and  pursue  my  studies. 
The  difficulties  in  my  way  here  have  been  removed  sooner 
than  I  expected,  when  I  last  wrote  from  here.  I  feel 
inclined  to  continue  here  for  the  present  year ;  and  yet 
there  is  something  very  inviting  in  the  prospect  of  travel 
ling  in  Europe  to  advantage.  Will  you  give  me  your 
opinion  of  the  proposition  made  me  ?•  Perhaps  you  will 
think  I  ought  not  to  have  declined  it.  I  have  written  that 
I  would  rather  decline  it,  and  yet  the  time  for  putting 
it  into  effect  was  not  to  be  till  next  month.  I  have  just 
said  that  I  felt  inclined  to  continue  here  for  the  present 
year  at  least.  I  am  now  quiet  and  undisturbed,  and  have 
a  reasonable  prospect  of  continuing  so.  I  am  settled  here, 
and  have  around  me  the  means,  I  think,  of  employing  my 
time  to  advantage.  The  only  thing  I  want  is  society ;  of 
that  I  am  about  destitute.  Under  present  circumstances, 
1  think,  I  had  better  stay  here  than  return  to  Boston  or 

Cambridge I  did  not  wish  to  insert  any  articles 

About  the      of  mine  in  the  Extracts,  for  this  reason.     I  did 

Elegant 

Extracts.  not  wish  to  insert  any  articles  of  mine  without 
inserting  other  American  specimens ;  and  I  felt  that  it 
was  an  invidious  task  for  one  in  my  relation  to  them. 


LETTERS    TO    DR.    HAYWARD.  233 

Still,  if  Walker  insists,  I  will  give  my  consent.  Perhaps 
there  is  no  need  of  any  note,  as  you  proposed ;  but  I  will 
leave  that  for  your  decision,  if  you  will  have  the  goodness 
to  attend  to  it.  I  inserted  Bryant's  Thanatopsis,  Bryant's 
because  I  thought  it  as  classical  as  anything  in  Thanat°Psis 
the  volume.  I  think  the  same  of  his  Address  to  a  Water 
fowl.  I  wish,  then,  the  following  articles  to  be  inserted  at 
the  end  of  Part  Second,  following  the  articles  in  the  list  I 
sent  Walker,  in  the  order  here  given :  Setting  Sail,  Ad 
dress  to  the  Sun,  A  Picture,  Liberty  to  Athens,  Consump 
tion,  The  Coral  Grove,  The  Broken  Heart,  How  Beautiful 
is  Night,  The  Wandering  Spirit,  A  Tale.  I  have  given 
these  as  among  the  best  in  my  selected  volume.  I  hope 

they  will  be  found  satisfactory If  you  will  suggest 

any  mode  of  transmission,  I  will  send  you  my  poem,  and 
leave  the  publication  of  it  with  you. 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

BERLIN,  November  22,  1825. 

I  received,  before  your  letter  came  to  hand,  an  urgent 
note  from  the  Society  at  New  Haven,  requesting  The  steps 
a  copy  of  my  poem ;  and  to  avoid  all  occasion  il^y^" 
of  reproach,  I    have  concluded  to  give  it  to  hl8  poem' 
them.     I  regret  very  much   that   I  must  withhold  my 
manuscript  from  you,  but  I  hope  soon  to  send  a  printed 
copy.     I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  for  this  refusal.     The 
proposition  with  regard  to  Europe  must  fail. 


234  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XII. 


TO  GEOEGE  HAYWARD. 

BERLIN,  December  8,  1825. 

I  received  yours  of  the  2d  on  Monday,  just  as  I  was 
taking  the  stage  for  New  Haven  to  attend  to  the  publica 
tion  of  my  poem.  I  found,  on  arriving  there  and  consult 
ing  the  officers  of  the  Society,  that  if  published  there  I 
must  consent  to  sacrifice  it.  They  were  entirely  willing 
I  should  publish  it  in  Boston  and  derive  any  advantage 
from  it  I  could,  if  I  would  only  consent  to  publish  it. 
They  seemed  to  be  pleased  to  have  me  publish  it,  as  if 
at  their  request,  though  that  they  did  not  insist  on.  On 
Monday  I  received  with  yours  a  letter  from  J.  G.  Carter, 
with  a  proposal  from  Gray  and  Hilliard  to  allow  me  thirty 
dollars  for  my  poem,  if  I  would  permit  them  to  publish  it 
in  a  Christmas  volume  they  intend  publishing.  I  do  not 
think  the  offer  large  enough ;  and  I  should  choose  to  have 
it  published  separately,  yet  I  have  not  refused.  I  have 
now  concluded  to  make  you  a  visit  next  week,  when  I 
shall  bring  my  manuscript  with  me,  and  make  some 
arrangements  for  its  publication  if  I  can.  I  have  never 
been  so  vexed  with  anything  of  mine  as  this.  But,  after 
all,  I  am  willing  to  publish  it,  and  yet  I  do  not  wish  to 
sacrifice  it  entirely  or  for  a  trifle. 

I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that  my  affair  with  Clapp  is  en 
tirely  closed,  but  I  have  been  very  sorry  to  put  you  to  so 

much  trouble  as  I  have  in  it In  managing  it  so  cor- 

He  wishes  to  dially  as  you  have  done,  you  have  put  me  under 

have  nothing  ....  ,   ,  .   ,          f 

more  to  do     great  obligations.    1  do  not  wish  to  have  any  rur- 

with  news-  .  .  _ 

papers.  ther  connections  with  newspapers,  nor  do  1  wish 
to  provoke  their  attacks  directly.  I  think,  after  what  I 
have  done  with  the  Society  at  New  Haven,  and  the  consent 


HIS    POEM    PUBLISHED.  235 

they  have  given,  that  I  am  at  entire  liberty  to  publish 
my  poem  as  I  choose,  and  that  no  one  has  any  business  to 
question  me.  I  am  entirely  willing  to  allow  you  to  make 
any  such  inquiries  with  regard  to  a  journey  to  Europe  as 
you  think  proper. 

He  was  now  engaged  in  editing  a  "  Geographical  View 
of  the  World,"  to  which  he  appended  some  fifty  publishes 
pages  on  the  "  Varieties  of  the  Human  Race,"  o/theHu! 
chiefly  taken  from  the  Mithridates  of  Adelung  man Race" 
and  Vater.     At  the  same  time  he  was  waiting  to  enter 
upon  new  literary  engagements   so  soon  as  they  could 
be    properly   arranged.      To   such   the   following   letter 
alludes. 

TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

BERLIN,  February  20,  1826. 

I  have  been  so  shut  out  from  the  world  here  that  I 
have  neither  seen  nor  heard  a  syllable  from  my  poem, 
whether  it  has  been  well  or  ill  received,  or  even  received 
at  all If  you  have  any  information  to  communi 
cate  on  the  subject  contemplated  when  I  was  with  you, 
I  should  be  happy  to  hear  it.  If  you  can  come  to  any 
conclusion  with  Richardson  and  Lord,  or  with  Walker,  I 
should  like  to  hear  of  it  as  soon  as  may  be  conveniently. 
I  do  not  wish  the  ground  I  took  to  be  departed  from.  I 
rather  wish  they  may  be  led  to  make  their  offers ;  and 
if  they  are  not  liberal,  I  wish  the  matter  dropped  at  once. 
Will  you  let  me  know  soon  what  you  have  done,  or  even 
if  you  have  effected  nothing  ? 

I  have  heard  nothing  of  my  poem.  I  have  some  curi 
osity  to  know  its  reception ;  and  if  you  have  anything  to 


236  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XII. 

communicate  on  that  point,  it  would  be  agreeable.  Has 
Anxious  it  been  attacked  or  defended,  or  has  it  been  suf- 
ceptioahoefhtfered  to  sleep  undisturbed?  Has  the  bookseller 
met  with  such  a  sale  as  to  satisfy  him  ?  Do 
you  find  it  well  or  ill  spoken  of  among  your  friends  ?  I 
wish  to  know  whether  Mr.  Allston  took  the  allusion  to 
him  at  the  conclusion  well  or  ill.  I  should  be  sorry  to 
have  done  anything  disagreeable  to  him,  particularly  as 
my  intentions  were  good. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

1826. 

His  POEM  CRITICISED  BY  MR.  BRYANT.  —  ALSO  BY  HENRY  WARE, 
JR.  —  His  POETICAL  VIEWS.  —  His  PHILOSOPHICAL  TEACHINGS. 


HE  reception  of  the  poem,  which  discoursed 

"  Of  mind,  and  its  mysterious  agencies, 
And  most  of  all,  its  high  creative  power," 


has  already  been  briefly  described.  It  is  true  that  but 
few  copies  were  sold.  It  was  published  too  late  after  the 
event  to  meet  the  demand.  But  in  another  direction,  as 
perhaps  the  most  elaborate  and  finished  poem  of  length 
which  he  had  published,  it  commanded  the  highest  praise. 
It  was  commented  on  by  an  appreciative  brother-poet, 
Mr.  Bryant,  in  the  March  number  of  the  United  States 
Review  for  1826,  in  these  glowing  terms  :  — 

"  The  poem  before  us  is,  in  our  opinion,  not  only  one 
of  the  most  successful  efforts  of  its  author,  but  The  poem 
a  production  of  singular  beauty  and  excellence  b^M?.6*1 
in  its  kind.     It  is  not  properly  a  didactic  poem,  Bl'yant» 
for  it  does  not  aim  at  the  regular  delivery  of  precepts, 
and  still  less  does  it  depend  for  its  interest  upon  anything 
like  narrative.     It  is  a  series  of  poetical  pictures,  con 
nected  by  a  common  subject,  and  drawn  with  that  free 
dom  of  outline  and  richness  of  coloring  peculiar  to  the 
author. 


238  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIII. 

"  In  their  remarks  on  the  earlier  poetry  of  Percival, 
we  recollect  that  the  critics  objected  to  its  profusion  of 
ornament,  and  complained  that  he  often  forsook  the  sub 
ject  to  go  after  the  illustration.  At  the  same  time,  every 
body  acknowledged  the  wonderful  facility  and  grace  of 
his  diction,  and  the  brilliancy  and  richness  of  his  im 
agery  ;  and  most  of  us  were  willing  to  confess,  that, 
whenever  he  went  out  of  his  way,  it  was  in  pursuit  of 
some  object  that  amply  repaid  his  wanderings,  —  some 
sight  of  beauty,  or  sound  of  melody,  which,  had  it  been 
as  readily  perceived  by  our  own  duller  senses,  would  have 
tempted  us  aside  as  well  as  himself.  To  us  there  is 
something  exceedingly  delightful  in  this  reckless  intoxi 
cation  with  which  this  author  surrenders  himself  to  the 
enchantment  of  that  multitude  of  glorious  and  beautiful 
images  that  come  crowding  upon  his  mind,  and  that  in 
finity  of  analogies  and  relations  between  natural  objects, 
and  again  between  these  and  the  moral  world,  which 
seem  to  lie  before  him  wherever  he  turns  his  eyes. 
The  writings  of  no  poet  seem  to  be  more  the  involuntary 
overflowings  of  his  mind.  It  is,  evidently,  no  laborious 
effort  with  him  to  search  out  and  collect  the  thoughts  and 
images  which  make  the  texture  of  his  poetry,  nor  has  he 
any  difficulty  in  retaining  them, 

*  Till  he  has  pencilled  off 
A  faithful  likeness  of  the  forms  he  views.' 

The  readiness  with  which  they  are  transferred  to  his 
pages  is  equalled  only  by  the  happiness  of  their  concep 
tion. 

"  That  in  some  of  the  poems  of  Percival  this  very 
abundance  of  poetic  wealth  should  be  somewhat  oppres 
sive  to  readers  of  colder  imagination,  is  not  at  all  extraor- 


CRITICISED    BY    MR.    WARE.  239 

dinary ;  but  such  will  not,  we  believe,  be  the  case  with 
the  poem  before  us.  The  exuberance  of  the  author's  im 
agination  finds  abundant  scope  in  the  nature  of  the  sub 
ject  he  has  chosen,  and  is  at  the  same  time  agreeably 
chastened  by  the  fine  vein  of  thought  that  runs  through 
the  whole." 

In  the  North  American  Review  for  April,  1826,  he 
also  found  an  able  yet  more  severe  critic  in  the  Rev. 
Henry  Ware,  Jr.,  whose  article  began  thus  :  — 

"  It  is  a  rare  thing  for  a  poet  of  Mr.  Percival's  genius 
and  reputation  to  appear  at  the  anniversary  of  And  by  the 
one  of  our  literary  associations.  It  is  equally  Ware,  Jr. 
rare  to  adopt  blank  verse  in  a  poem  designed  for  recita 
tion,  and  to  extend  it  to  the  length  of  eleven  hundred 
lines.  Genius  and  fame  stand  an  unequal  match  against 
these  unfavorable  circumstances.  Few  hearers  could 
listen  without  fatigue  to  any  composition  of  so  great 
length.  Still  less  when  there  must  be  the  constant 
struggle,  ever  disappointed  and  ever  renewed,  to  trace 
the  structure  of  the  verse. 

"  But  however  ill  adapted  it  may  be  for  recitation,  no 
such  disadvantages  attend  it  as  offered  from  the  press. 
We  receive  it  as  a  poem  to  be  read,  and  we  read  it  with 
out  regarding  its  fitness  to  be  spoken.  It  comes  to  the 
public  with  that  recommendation  from  the  author's  name 
which  insures  it  a  candid  perusal.  The  character  of  the 
subject  and  the  occasion  render  it  an  object  of  more  than 
ordinary  notice,  while  the  reputation  of  its  fertile  author, 
and  the  peculiarities  of  his  beautiful  but  wayward  pen, 
demand  that  it  should  receive  an  impartial  examination 
from  those  who  are  solicitous  about  the  popular  poetry 
of  our  country." 

The  critic  then  went  on  to  complain  that  the  poet's  sub- 


240  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XIII. 

ject  was  too  extensive;  after  which  he  entered  into  a 
minute  analysis  of  the  poem  itself,  giving  Percival  the 
benefit  of  a  most  impartial  and  searching  criticism.  His 
The  critic  se-  excuse  was  that  "  Mr.  Percival  is  too  important 

vere  because 

Percival  is     a  man,  and  his  example  of  too  great  influence, 

an  important 

man.  to  be  sparing  in  the  use  of  the  scalpel."     And 

then  he  mentioned  some  of  the  most  obvious  and  radical 
defects  of  all  his  poetry.  He  said :  — > 

"  There  is  an  excessive  diffuseness  in  the  style  of  Mr. 
Percival.     It  is   not   sufficiently   compact.     It 

His  style. 

wants  pith  and  point ;  it  lacks  the  energy 
which  conciseness  imparts.  Everything  is  drawn  out 
as  far  as  possible  ;  always  flowing  and  sweet,  and  there 
fore  sometimes  languid  and  monotonous.  His  poetry  is 
too  much  diluted.  It  consists  too  much  in  words,  which 
are  music  to  the  ear,  but  too  often  send  a  feeble  echo  of 
the  sense  to  the  mind.  There  is  also  a  superabundance 
of  images  in  proportion  to  the  thoughts.  They  skip  about 
the  magical  scene  in  such  numbers,  that  they  stand  in  the 
way  of  one  another  and  of  the  main  design.  He  is  too 
careless  in  selection ;  whatever  occurs  to  him  he  puts 
down  and  lets  it  remain.  He  is  not  master  of 

4  That  last,  the  greatest  art,  —  the  art  to  blot.' 

Writing,  as  he  evidently  does,  from  the  fulness  of  an  ex 
cited  mind,  upon  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  his  thoughts 
crowd  one  another,  and  cannot  always  fall  at  once  into 
their  places  and  in  the  happiest  expression.  There  will 
be  confusion  sometimes  in  their  ranks,  and  want  of  due 

proportion Everything  wears  an  extemporaneous 

and  unfinished  appearance.  Strength  and  weakness  are 
most  strangely  combined,  and  passages  of  surpassing  ele 
gance  and  magnificence  are  crowded  in  amongst  slovenly 


HIS    POETICAL    VIEWS.  241 

and  incomplete.  Hence  it  is  rare  to  meet  with  a  para 
graph  of  any  length  equally  sustained  throughout.  Flaws 
show  themselves  in  the  most  brilliant  sentences,  and  the 
reader  is  compelled  to  stop  with  a  criticism  in  the  midst 

of  his  admiration 

"  For  this  reason,  his  powers  are  displayed  to  greater 
advantage  in  particular  passages  and  in  short  His  best 

pieces  the 

pieces,  than  in  any  extended  composition.  At  a  shortest. 
single  heat  he  may  strike  out  a  fine  conception,  and  give 
it  the  happiest  shape.  But  when  his  thoughts  and  pen 
run  on  through  successive  parts  of  a  subject,  he  easily 
loses  himself  in  a  wilderness  of  words,  beautiful  and 
musical,  but  conveying  indistinct  impressions,  or  rather 
conveying  impressions  instead  of  ideas ;  reminding  us  of; 
poetry  read  while  we  are  falling  asleep, —  sweet  and  sooth 
ing,  but  presenting  very  shadowy  images.  Yet  no  man 
has  more  felicity  in  expression,  or  more  thoroughly  de 
lights  and  fascinates  in  his  peculiar  passages." 

Among  his  earlier  writings  is  an  exposition  of  his  poet 
ical  theory.  It  is  worthy  of  note,  not  merely  as  coming 
from  his  pen,  but  as  perhaps  the  first  essay  in  our  litera 
ture  on  this  subject.  It  is  singular,  too,  that  his  general 
views  should  be  nearly  identical  with  those  of  Bacon  and 
Coleridge,  while  yet  the  essay  bears  on  its  very  face  the 
unmistakable  evidence  of  originality.  In  the  Preface  to 
the  first  number  of  Clio  he  thus  speaks  of  the  spirit 
and  aim  of  poetry :  — 

"  Poetry  should  be  a  sacred  thing,  not  to  be  thrown 
away  on  the  dull  and  low  realities  of  life.     It  Hig  poeticai 
should  live  only  with  those  feelings  and  imagi-  theory' 
nations  which  are  above  this  world,  and  are  the  anticipa 
tions  of  a  brighter  and  better  being.     It  should  be  the 
creator  of  a  sublimity  undebased  by  anything  earthly,  and 
11  p 


242  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XIII. 

the  embodier  of  a  beauty  that  mocks  at  all  defilement  and 
decay.  It  should  be,  in  fine,  the  historian  of  human  na 
ture,  in  its  fullest  possible  perfection,  and  the  painter  of 
all  those  lines  and  touches  in  earth  and  heaven,  which 
nothing  but  taste  can  see  and  feel.  It  should  give  to  its 
forms  the  expressions  of  angels,  and  throw  over  its  pic 
tures  the  hues  of  immortality.  There  can  be  but  one 
extravagance  in  poetry ;  it  is  to  clothe  feeble  conceptions 
in  mighty  language.  But  if  the  mind  can  keep  pace  with 
the  pen,  if  the  fancy  can  fill  and  dilate  the  words  it  sum 
mons  to  array  its  images,  no  matter  how  high  its  flights, 
how  seemingly  wild  its  reaches ;  the  soul  that  can  rise 
will  follow  with  pleasure,  and  find,  in  the  harmony  of  its 
own  emotions  with  the  high  creations  around  it,  the  surest 
evidence  that  such  things  are  not  distempered  ravings, 
and  that  in  the  society  of  beings  so  pure  and  so  exalted 
it  is  good  to  be  present." 

In  the  Preface  to  the  second  part  of  Prometheus  he 
defends  the  luxuriant  fulness  of  his  own  poetry  :  — 

"  I  do  not  like  that  poetry  which  bears  the  marks  of 
Likes  a  lux-  tlie  ^e  an(i  burnisher.  I  like  to  see  it  in  the 
uriant  style.  full  ebullition  of  feeling  and  fancy,  foaming  up 
with  the  spirit  of  life,  and  glowing  with  the  rainbows  of 
a  glad  inspiration.  When  there  is  a  quick  swell  of  pas 
sion,  and  an  ever  coming  and  going  of  beauty,  as  the  light 
of  the  soul  glances  over  it,  I  could  not  have  the  heart  to 

press  it  down  to  its  solid  quintessence I  like  to 

see  something  savage  and  luxuriant  in  works  of  imagina 
tion,  throwing  itself  out  like  the  wild  vines  of  the  forest, 
rambling  and  climbing  over  the  branches,  and  twining 
themselves  into  a  maze  of  windings.  What  would  you 
think  of  a  fine  horse,  if  you  saw  him  always  on  the  curvet 
and  the  demi-volte  ?  Would  he  not  seem  a  grander  object, 


HIS    POETICAL    VIEWS.  243 

if,  after  gathering  his  strength  on  the  bit,  he  should  burst 
out  and  sweep  over  the  plain  in  the  full  force  of  his  speed? 
or,  as  Homer  finely  expresses  it,  (I  give  my  own  English,) 
'  Like  a  full-fed  horse,  who  breaks  his  band,  and  runs 
prancing  through  the  plain,  to  where  he  loved  to  bathe  in 
the  fair-flowing  river ;  exulting,  he  holds  his  head  aloft, 

and  his  mane  tosses  around  his  shoulders.' " 

* 

And  in  a  paper  entitled,  To  KaXoV,  or  the  Ideal  in  Poetry, 
he  further  defines  his  peculiar  theory :  — 

"  I  have  a  few  things  to  say  on  the  ideal  in  poetry.  I 
wish  to  vindicate  its  just  claims,  and  to  show,  as  far  as  I 
can  in  the  short  space  allotted  me,  that  it  is  not  dangerous 
ground  for  the  poet  to  venture  on.  Indeed,  I  would 
rather  consider  it  as  a  field,  wherein  he  can  make  his 
brightest  efforts  and  gain  his  noblest  victories,  as,  in  fact, 
the  only  element  in  which  his  imagination  can  spread  its 
wings  to  its  loftiest  daring.  I  understand  by  the  ideal 
the  sublimation  of  taste,  in  all  its  departments  of  the 
great,  the  beautiful,  and  the  tender,  to  its  highest  point  of 
elevation  and  refinement,  —  the  abstraction  from  objects 
of  natural  sublimity  and  beauty,  of  everything  low  and 
abhorrent  to  the  purest  feeling,  —  and  the  combination  of 
all  those  qualities  which  irresistibly  command  our  awe 
and  admiration  into  one  perfect  picture  of  all  that  can  be 
attractive  in  the  thing  in  question.  It  is  such  a  purifica 
tion  of  existing  objects,  as  we  find  in  the  masterpieces 
of  ancient  statuary,  —  the  Venus  and  the  Apollo;  or  in  the 
celestial  touches  and  heaven-breathing  tints  of  Raphael 
and  Correggio. 

"  Objects  as  they  really  exist  around  us  have  but  little 
of  poetry  in  them.  By  the  aid  of  that  creative  faculty, 
the  imagination,  they  lay  aside  their  deformities,  and  are 
invested  with  an  attire  of  unblemished  beauty.  They 


244  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XIII. 

need  the  aid  of  distance  to  be  viewed  with  unmingled 
satisfaction.  It  is  only  when  the  blue  haze  has  thrown 
over  them  its  softening  and  mellowing  mantle,  that  they 
appear  to  us  in  that  form  of  seducing  loveliness  which 
can  control  the  refined  heart,  and  bend  to  adoration  the 
mind,  to  which  beauty  has  become  a  portion  of  its  con 
stant  meditation,  which  has  surrounded  its  conceptions 
with  the  essence  of  all  that  is  sweet  and  high  in  expres 
sion  and  symmetrical  in  outline,  and  has  made  to  itself 
the  whole  universe  one  system  of  perfect  harmonies.  It 
was  by  this  choice  of  every  delicate  feature  in  the  assem 
bled  loveliness  of  Greece  that  the  perfect  image  of 
ancient  beauty  was  formed ;  and  it  is  only  by  thus  ab 
stracting  the  fairest  portions  of  nature,  and  combining 
them  into  new  and  peculiar  groupings,  that  the  poet  can 
build  such  a  fabric  of  great  and  rich  and  glowing 
thought,  and  adorn  it  with  such  a  dress  of  tender  and 
touching  sentiment,  as  will,  through  every  age  and  in 
every  nation  where  its  language  can  be  understood,  at 
tract  around  it  the  delight  and  admiration  of  every  cul 
tivated  and  susceptible  mind. 

"  It  is  another  attribute  of  the  ideal  to  consider  every 
object  in  nature  as  animated ;  to  suppose  that  the  moun 
tains,  the  woods,  and  the  skies  are  actuated  by  a  spirit  of 
intelligence,  and  capable  of  communicating  with  each 
other  in  the  mute  adoration  they  render  to  the  collected 
majesty  of  the  universe.  We  imagine  one  great  ani 
mating  power  diffused  throughout  nature,  and  bending  all 
things  to  its  purposes.  We  imagine  each  particular  ob 
ject  actuated  by  its  own  peculiar  spirit,  conferring  with 
the  beings  around  it,  and  tending  upward  to  the  common 
centre  of  all  things.  We  therefore  address  them  as  sym 
pathizing  with  our  emotions.  We  call  upon  the  dark 


jSiJ  HIS    POETICAL    VIEWS.  245 

woods  and  silent  waters  to  join  in  our  sorrows,  and  the 
bright  skies  and  flowering  fields  to  partake  of  our  rejoi 
cings.  When  the  ideal  poet  goes  out  into  the  solitudes  of 
rocks  and  woods,  he  is  not  alone,  for  he  has  made  all 
things  around  him  replete  with  life  and  action ;  he  has 
given  them  a  sense  to  hear  and  a  language  to  reply,  and 
he  can  hold  conversation  with  them  on  all  that  touches 
the  heart  and  kindles  the  fancy. 

*  All  live  and  move  to  the  poetic  eye,  — 
The  winds  have  voices,  and  the  stars  of  night 
Are  spirits  throned  in  brightness,  keeping  watch 
O'er  earth  and  its  inhabitants;  the  clouds, 
That  gird  the  sun  with  glory,  are  a  train 
In  panoply  of  gold  around  him  set, 
To  guard  his  morning  and  his  evening  throne. 
The  elements  are  instruments  employed, 
By  unseen  hands,  to  work  their  sovereign  will. 
They  do  their  bidding.     When  the  storm  goes  forth, 
'T  is  but  the  thunderer's  car,  whereon  he  rides 
Aloft  in  triumph,  o'er  our  prostrate  heads. 
Its  roar  is  but  the  rumbling  of  his  wheels, 
Its  flashes  are  his  arrows;  and  the  folds 
That  curl  and  heave  upon  the  warring  winds, 
The  dust,  that  rolls  beneath  his  coursers'  feet.' 

It  is  this  feeling  of  universal  life  which  runs  through  all 
the  noblest  efforts  of  poetry.  Platonic  and  extravagant 
it  may  be  to  the  man  of  cold  reason,  who  is  obstinately 
bent  on  believing  no  further  than  his  senses  will  lead  him, 
and  who  will  reject  and  give  the  lie  to  every  illusion,  how 
ever  sweet  and  lofty  it  may  be.  But  he  who  can  follow 
the  aspirations  of  Milton  and  Thomson  in  their  universal 
hymns,  of  Coleridge  in  his  address  to  Mont  Blanc,  of 
Wordsworth  in  the  bolder  flights  of  his  Excursion,  and  of 
Byron  in  those  higher  efforts  of  his  genius  which  his 
enemies  have  called  lakeish  and  affected,  —  he  who  can  do 


246  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIII. 

this  will  not  ask  the  strictness  of  demonstration  to  con 
vince  him  that  these  bright  pictures  of  beauty  and  mag 
nificence,  however  unreal  they  may  be,  are  not  such  as 
can  give  the  sweetest  pleasure  to  the  heart,  and  lift  him 
to  the  purest  regions  of  intellectual  enjoyment.  If  I  had 
the  making  of  my  own  heaven,  it  should  be  formed  of 
such  refined  materials,  and  inhabited  by  such  master 
spirits.  It  should  be  filled  with  the  fairest  beauty,  the 
purest  virtue,  the  brightest  glory,  and  the  fondest  friend 
ship  ;  in  fine,  it  should  be  all  that  the  most  exalted  imagi 
nation  can  conceive,  and  the  best  heart  can  feel;  and 
such  ought  to  be  the  ideal  in  poetry." 

The  same  views  are  given,  in  poetical  language,  in  the 
poem  Poetry,  in  which  he  considers  poetry  in  a  two 
fold  point  of  view,  —  as  a  spirit  and  a  manifestation  ;  and 
also  in  the  prose  essays  appended  to  the  first  volume  of 
his  poems. 

In  a  prose  paper,  The  Philosopher,  he  thus  al 
ludes  to  the  mystic  union  of  philosophy,  religion,  and 
poetry :  — 

"  Look  up  to  the  open  sky  and  the  unchanging  stars, 
and  through  them  to  the  one  great  light  that  shines  in  the 
zenith  of  all,  and  you  will  hear  a  music,  sweeter  even 
than  that  of  the  spheres,  as  evolving  from  the  Power  that 
rules  the  spheres,  proclaiming  in  tones  of  fullest  and  com- 
pletest  harmony  the  one  great  principle  of  our  intellectual 
and  moral  existence,  —  philosophy,  religion,  and  poetry 
sit  enthroned  as  a  spiritual  triunity  in  the  shrine  of  man's 
highest  nature.  The  perfect  vision  of  all-embracing 
Truth,  the  vital  feeling  of  all-blessing  Good,  and  the  liv 
ing  sense  of  all-gracing  Beauty,  —  they  form  united  the 
Divinity  of  Pure  Reason."  * 

*  Appendix  D. 


HIS    POETICAL    VIEWS.  247 

In  his  view,  poetry,  as  he  writes  in  the  Preface  of  his  last 
published  volume,  is  "  an  art  which  requires  a  The  demands 
mastery  of  the  riches  and  niceties  of  a  language  ;  of  P0®*^* 
a  full  knowledge  of  the  science  of  versification,  not  only  in 
its  own  peculiar  principles  of  rhythm  and  melody,  but  in  its 
relations  to  elocution  and  music,  with  that  delicate  natural 
perception  and  that  facile  execution  which  render  the 
composition  of  verse  hardly  less  easy  than  that  of  prose ; 
a  deep  and  quick  insight  into  the  nature  of  man,  in  all  his 
varied  faculties,  intellectual  and  emotive ;  a  clear  and 
full  perception  of  the  power  and  beauty  of  nature,  and 
of  all  its  various  harmonies  with  our  own  thoughts  and 
feelings;  and,  to  gain  a  high  rank  in  the  present  age, 
wide  and  exact  attainments  in  literature  and  art  in  gen 
eral.  Nor  is  the  possession  of  such  faculties  and  attain 
ments  all  that  is  necessary ;  but  such  a  sustained  and  self- 
collected  state  of  mind  as  gives  one  the  mastery  of  his 
genius,  and  at  the  same  time  presents  to  him  the  ideal  as 
an  immediate  reality,  not  as  a  remote  conception." 

If  we  compare  this  view  of  poetry  with  the  essay  of 
Shelley,  the  mystic  utterances  of  Novalir-;,  and  the  princi 
ples  which  underlie  the  poetry  of  Dana,  Bryant,  A  kindred 
Jones  Very,  and  Mrs.  Browning,  wo  shall  find  coutcmpo- 

.,...,.  -ft  i      rary  litera- 

a  striking  similarity.  It  seems  as  it  each,  seek-  tare, 
ing  in  the  depths  of  his  own  consciousness,  had  found  an 
answer  to  his  questionings  of  the  genius  of  poetry.  A 
subtile  spiritual  sympathy  is  traceable  in  their  works. 
They  are  so  many  distinct  witnesses  to  the  medilative 
spirit  of  the  age.  De  Quincey  has  suggested  that  "  med 
itative  poetry  is  perhaps  that  which  will  finally  maintain 
most  power  upon  generations  more  thoughtful."  *  If  I 
mistake  not,  it  has  already  gained  the  most  power.  The 
*  Essays  on  the  Poets,  p.  38. 


248  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIII. 

introspective  and  searching  analysis  of  the  soul,  resulting 
from  meditative  habits,  turns  the  eyes  of  our  poets  con 
tinually  inward.  Solitary  meditation  amid  the  grand  and 
beautiful  in  nature  has  become  most  congenial  to  their 
mood.  Especially  is  this  characteristic  of  American  poets. 
As  early  as  1833  Dana  wrote :  "  A  more  spiritual  philos 
ophy  perhaps  than  man  has  before  looked  on,  and  a 
poetry  twin  with  it,  are  coming  into  existence."*  His 
own  works,  both  in  prose  and  poetry,  bear  witness  to  the 
truth  of  his  remark.  Perhaps  no  writer  of  the  age,  ex 
cepting  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth,  has  shown  deeper 
insight  or  a  truer  understanding  of  the  human  heart.  He 
is  continually  throwing  light  on  the  vexed  problems  of 
life.  Directness  of  aim,  truthfulness  of  speech,  and  hon 
est  familiarity  are  never  wanting ;  while  the  feeling  that 
life  has  a  profounder  meaning  and  a  higher  purpose  than 
we  yet  dream  of,  breathes  over  his  thoughts  a  kind  of 
religious  awe.  His  imagination,  brooding  with  fearful 
energy,  seems  to  find  delight  equally  in  scenes  of  super 
natural  horror  and  "all-gracing  beauty."  If  Percival's 
imagination  has  less  spectral  and  electric  power,  its  activ 
ity  and  range  are  much  greater.  If  he  enters  little  into 
the  joys  and  sorrows  of  common  life,  it  is  only  that  he 
may  live  in  that  ideal  beauty  and  perfection  which  speech 
fails  to  grasp.  He  is  impatient  with  human  depravity. 
In  early  life,  the  thought  that  sin  and  want  beset  the  race 
and  permit  very  few  to  reach  the  highest  perfection  of 
which  our  nature  is  capable,  almost  drove  him  mad.  His 
poem  entitled  The  Suicide  reads  as  if  it  were  suggested 
by  this  very  thought.  Imagination  and  sensibility  con 
tended  like  enraged  rivals  for  the  mastery  of  his  earlier 
years.  But  Percival  is  not  without  that  meditative  philo- 
*  Preface  to  The  Idle  Man. 


^f?Si.]      HIS    PHILOSOPHICAL    TEACHINGS.         249 

sophic  spirit  which  belongs  to  Dana.  His  philosophy  is 
even  less  tangible  than  that  of  Novalis.  It  is  purely 
intellectual.  Its  truths  seem  as  if  collected  amid  the  utter 
loneliness  of  an  introspective  life.  Sympathy  with  nature, 
both  as  a  teacher  and  a  spirit,  the  fearless  assertion  of 
truth,  and  a  spiritual  aspiration  which  finds  its  rest  only 
with  universal  Deity,  characterize  its  utterances.  If  Shel 
ley  had  lived  longer,  no  doubt  his  sharp,  clear  insight 
would  have  penetrated  still  further  into  the  mysteries  of 
poetic  truth,  for  his  writings  are  similar  to  Percival's  in 
spirit.  The  poems  of  Jones  Very,  coming  nearer  to  the 
received  doctrines  of  religious  faith,  repeat  the  same  rest 
less  yearning  and  aspiration ;  and  Bryant's  Thanatopsis 
reflects  the  same,  though  in  darker  colors. 

The  Prometheus  contains  in  fragments  the  essence 
of  Percival's  philosophy,  and  the  story  of  Pro-  His  phiioso- 
metheus  strangely  fascinated  him.  His  life,  phy' 
in  ambition  and  energy,  in  aspiration  and  insight,  in 
disappointments  and  endurance,  had  a  singular  likeness 
to  that  of  the  mythical  hero.  The  poem  takes  its  name 
from  the  similarity  of  spirit  between  Percival  and  his 
ancient  prototype.  It  reflects  his  real  mental  life  more 
than  any  other  work.  It  abounds  in  passages  which 
reach  our  inmost  thoughts  ;  but  the  wild  and  gloomy 
ravings  in  the  second  part  are  such  as  he  would  not  have 
written  later  in  life.  For  these  he  has  been  strongly  cen 
sured  by  religious  critics  ;  but  if  he  at  times  threw  out 
doubts  respecting  the  credibility  of  revelation,  in  the  same 
work  he  drew  pictures  of  meek  and  simple  faith,  which 
will  bear  comparison  with  any  similar  utterances  in  con 
fessedly  religious  poetry.  The  holy  affections  of  child 
hood,  the  beauty  of  confiding  trust,  and  the  thoughts 
which  spring  from  meditation  on  a  future  life,  are  themes 
11* 


250  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIII. 

upon  which  he  dwells  with  a  frequency  and  earnestness 
that  show  how  congenial  they  were  to  his  own  soul. 

The    Dignity  of  Man   is  more   thoughtful   than   any 
The  Dignity  other  of  his  writings.     Its  leading  purpose  is 
:  Man'        to  set  forth  that  creative  spiritual  power  which 

"  Is  in  us,  as  an  instinct,  where  it  lives 
A  part  of  us,  we  can  as  ill  throw  off 
As  bid  the  vital  pulses  cease  to  play, 
And  yet  expect  to  live,  —  the  spirit  of  lite, 
And  hope,  and  elevation,  and  eternity,  — 
The  fountain  of  all  honor,  all  desire 
After  a  higher  and  a  better  state,  — 
An  influence  so  quickening,  it  imbues 
All  things  we  see  with  its  own  qualities, 
And  therefore  Poetry,  another  name 
For  this  innate  Philosophy,  so  often 
Gives  life  and  body  to  invisible  things, 
And  animates  the  insensible,  diffusing 
The  feelings,  passions,  tendencies  of  man, 
Through  the  whole  range  of  being.     Though  on  earth, 
And  most  of  all  in  living  things,  as  birds 
And  flowers,  in  things  that  beautify,  and  fill 
The  air  with  harmony,  and  in  the  waters, 
So  full  of  change,  so  apt  to  elegance 
Or  power,  —  so  tranquil  when  they  lie  at  rest, 
So  sportive  when  they  trip  it  lightly  on 
Their  prattling  way,  and  with  so  terrible 
And  lion-like  seventy,  when  roused 
To  break  their  bonds,  and  hurry  forth  to  war 
With  winds  and  storms,  —  though  it  find  much  on  earth 
Suited  to  its  high  purpose,  yet  the  sky 
Is  its  peculiar  home,  and  most  of  all, 
When  it  is  shadowed  by  a  shifting  veil 
Of  clouds,  like  to  the  curtain  of  a  stage, 
Beautiful  in  itself,  and  yet  concealing 
A  more  exalted  beauty."  * 

This  philosophic  spirit  is  shown  to  be  the  highest  reach 
of  the  great  masters  of  song,  — Homer,  JEschylus,  Dante, 
*  Poems,  Vol.  II.  p.  148. 


HIS    PHILOSOPHICAL    TEACHINGS.        251 

Shakespeare,  Spenser,  Milton,  and  Tasso,  —  all  of  whom 
the  poet  sees  in  a  vision,  in  three  circles,  one  above  the 
other.  In  graphic,  rapid  painting,  the  poem  is  not  sur 
passed  even  by  Mrs.  Browning's  Vision  of  the  Poets. 
Percival  was  singularly  happy  in  throwing  a  wealth  of 
imaginative  power  into  single  passages,  often  into  single 
words,  and  of  such  passages  and  graphic  words  The 
Dignity  of  Man  is  full,  though,  considered  as  a  work 
of  art,  it  is  a  tissue  of  mere  fragments.  In  the  glow  of 
poetic  heat,  he  pours  forth  imagery,  thought,  and  impas 
sioned  feeling  in  lavish  abundance.  If  this  be  set  down 
as  a  fault,  we  may  well  ask,  What  poem  is  complete  ? 
There  is  no  work  which  is  not  the  fragment  of  a  greater ; 
and  a  poem,  however  entire  may  be  its  epic  completeness 
in  design  and  comprehension,  is  level  with  its  aim  only  in 
special  parts.  Thus  judged,  our  poet  both  excels  and 
fails.  Pie  descends  less  frequently  from  the  elevation 
of  genuine  poetry  than  almost  any  other  writer ;  but  his 
unvarying  succession  of  brilliant  imagery  and  suggestive 
thought  has  injured  the  effect  of  his  finest  passages. 
Thus  in  The  Dignity  of  Man  we  are  constantly  turned 
aside  by  minute  beauties  of  thought  and  expression  ;  yet 
with  all  the  irregularity  of  its  movement,  no  one  can  fail 
to  be  deeply  impressed  by  its  mystic  philosophy  and  spir 
itual  meditativeness. 

The  Love  of  Study  and  Mental  Harmony  could  have 
been  written  only  by  Percival.  With  a  vividness  which 
marks  them  as  genuine,  they  picture  the  inward  life  of 
the  scholar  and  the  strong  sympathy  of  kindred  minds. 
The  following  passage  from  Mental  Harmony  admits  us 
into  the  spirit  of  his  mental  life  :  — 

"  All  life, 
And  all  inferior  orders,  in  the  waste 


252  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIII. 

Of  being  spread  before  us,  are  to  him 

Who  lives  in  meditation,  and  the  search 

Of  wisdom  and  of  beauty,  open  books, 

Wherein  he  reads  the  Godhead,  and  the  ways 

He  works  through  his  creation,  and  the  links 

That  fasten  us  to  all  things,  with  a  sense 

Of  fellowship  and  feeling,  so  that  we 

Look  not  upon  a  cloud,  or  falling  leaf, 

Or  flower  new  blown,  or  human  face  divine, 

But  we  have  caught  new  life,  and  wider  thrown 

The  door  of  reason  open,  and  have  stored 

In  memory's  secret  chamber,  for  dark  years 

Of  age  and  weariness,  the  food  of  thought. 

And  thus  extended  mind,  and  made  it  young, 

When  the  thin  hair  turns  gray,  and  feeling  dies."  * 

In  many  other  poems  our  author  gives  us  insight  into  the 
singular  system  of  philosophic  belief,  the  principles  of 
which  he  set  forth  only  in  poetry.  The  general  tone  of 
his  speculations  is  sad  enough.  While  he  found  delight 
in  bold  and  lofty  imaginings,  few  could  sympathize  with 
him  or  even  follow  him.  His  life  and  philosophy  were 
much  alike,  —  both  earnest,  profound,  and  sad. 

*  Poems,  Vol.  I.  p.  41. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


1826-1828. 

A  CHANGE  IN  HIS  EMPLOYMENTS.  —  ENGAGES  TO  EDIT  MALTE-BRUN'S 
GEOGRAPHY.  —  His  LITERARY  POSITION  AND  PROSPECTS.  —  TALK 
OF  ESTABLISHING  A  LITERARY  PAPER  IN  BOSTON.  —  CLIO  No.  III. 
—  ENGAGES  TO  SUPERVISE  THE  PRINTING  OF  WEBSTER'S  DICTION 
ARY.  —  His  RELIGIOUS  VIEWS.  —  THE  SEVERE  NATURE  OF  HIS 
TASKS.  —  A  CORRECTOR  OF  BLUNDERS.  —  DR.  WEBSTER  AS  A 
LEXICOGRAPHER. 

E  enter  now  upon  a  period  in  which  Percival's 
powers  were  tried  in  a  new  field.  We  pass 
gradually  but  inevitably  from  the  exciting 
and  joyous  days  of  poetical  composition  to 
the  unvarying,  plodding  tasks  of  a  hard-work-  A  new  period 
ing  literary  man,  who  willingly  tore  the  chaplet  raphy. 
from  his  brows,  and  endured  poverty  and  seclusion  while 
laboring  for  his  daily  bread.  Percival's  life  may  now 
largely  be  told  in  his  own  words.  The  letters  to  Dr. 
Hayward,  although  mainly  on  matters  of  business,  con 
tain  many  revelations  of  his  own  thoughts  and  feelings. 
To  him  Percival  gave  his  entire  confidence  ;  and  he  was 
always  free  to  speak  of  himself  when  this  confidence  had 
been  won.  His  two  chief  labors  for  several  HIS  future 
years  were  the  revision  of  Malte-Brun's  Geog-  work> 
raphy  and  the  correction  of  the  proof-sheets  of  Web 
ster's  Dictionary.  They  were  both  laborious,  time-con 
suming  works ;  and  by  various  delays  they  both  kept  him 


254  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XIV. 

engaged  far  beyond  the  time  originally  named  in  the  con 
tracts.  They  were  only  varied  by  writing  occasional 
short  pieces  of  poetry,  and  by  the  diligent  prosecution 
of  his  studies  in  the  languages  of  modern  Europe  and  in 
the  physical  sciences,  more  particularly  those  of  geology 
and  mineralogy. 

After  a  short  visit  to  Boston,  in  January,  1826,  as  the 
guest  of  Dr.  Hayward  and  Professor  Ticknor,  during 
Engages  to  which  he  made  an  informal  engagement  to  edit 
Brim.  the  American  edition  of  Malte-Brun,  he  re 

moved  from  Boston  to  New  Haven,  and  began  to  make 
preparation  for  his  new  literary  employment.  To  the 
business  part  of  this  undertaking  the  following  corre 
spondence  was  largely  devoted.  I  have,  however,  only 
given  those  extracts  which  relate  chiefly  to  the  personal 
history  of  the  poet. 


TO  GEORGE   HAYWARD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  March  12,  1826. 

I  received  yours  of  the  8th  on  Saturday,  and  was  very 
happy  to  learn  that  you  had  succeeded  in  procuring  a 
part  of  the  original  of  Malte-Brun.  I  trust  I  shall  now 
be  able  to  give  a  correctness  to  Walker's  edition  which 
Wells  and  Lily's  wants.  I  have  no  disposition  to  take  ad 
vantage  of  such  a  circumstance,  but  I  could  show  a  series 
of  errors  of  translation,  I  believe,  which  are  anything  but 

honorable  to  the  work This  duty  of  correcting 

these  errors  from  the  original  will  add  to  my  labor,  but  I 
do  it  cheerfully.  I  certainly  should  not  be  willing  to  lend 
my  name  to  such  errors  when  I  had  it  in  my  power  to 
correct  them,  as  I  shall  have. 

As  for  poetry,  I  have  been  so  occupied  since  I  have 


HIS    LITERARY    PROSPECTS.  255 

been  here  with  Malte-Brun,  that  I  have  had  no  time  for 
it  beyond  the  preparation  of  the  volume  to  be  Discussion 

*  x  t  of  literary 

published  by  the  Carvills,  —  which  will  be  out  prospects, 
soon.  I  am  engaged  to  write  something  for  two  Souve 
nirs.  I  do  not  wish  to  meddle  with  theatrical  pieces.  I 
had  rather  leave  them  to  the  professional  prize-masters. 
A  passage  in  Mr.  Everett's  report  on  the  national  pictures 
will  explain  my  feelings  on  that  point.  You  say  I  ought 
seriously  to  engage  in  an  extensive  poem.  I  cannot 
think  of  it,  until  I  have  fulfilled  my  present  engage 
ments.  When  they  are  completed,  had  I  other  similar 
ones  offered  me,  I  would  engage  in  them,  rather  than 
spend  the  gains  of  this  year  in  a  pursuit  which  has 
proved  to  me  worse  than  disappointment.  Still  I  do 
not  altogether  abandon  my  hopes  and  wishes.  I  have 
thought  often  of  many  subjects,  which  to  me  seem  noble 
and  worthy  of  any  mind ;  but  I  have  no  assurance  that 
I  shall  ever  engage  in  any  of  them.  If  I  do,  it  must 
be  from  motives  altogether  posthumous  and  extramun- 
dane.  If  I  can  be  sustained  through  a  long  and  ardu 
ous  task  by  such  motives  and  such  hopes,  I  may  accom 
plish  it.  Milton  could ;  but  I  am  not  Milton.  I  am 
heartily  sick  of  writing  at  order,  furnishing  little  six 
penny  jobs  to  a  speculating  bookseller ;  yet  this  is  the 
only  way  a  poet  can  now  obtain  a  substantial  reward, 
and  that,  from  the  extremely  limited  demand,  does  not 
deserve  the  name.  . 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWAKD. 

HARTFORD,  March  18,  1826. 

....  To  be  plain  with  you,  I  have  no  confidence  in 
literature.    I  should  wish  to  have  a  little  if  I  could  gather 


256  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIV. 

it  anywhere,  but  as  yet  it  has  been  but  a  sloe-bush  to  me ; 
Literary  dis-  for  a  few  taskless  hopes,  it  has  sent  me  away  in 
appointment.  no  envjabie  condition,  though  at  present  I  feel 
myself  from  other  sources  more  assured  than  I  have  long 
been.  It  will  not  answer  for  me  to  continue  here  (I  mean 
in  Connecticut).  If  I  had  no  other  object  than  writing, 
it  would  ill  repay  me  for  any  efforts  I  might  make  ;  and 
if  I  must  live  by  my  pen,  I  should  die  here  of  uncertainty 
and  solitude  in  a  little  while.  I  have  never  known  much 
of  society,  nothing  regularly,  what  little  I  have  only 
by  glimpses;  and  yet  I  need  it,  and  that  suited  to  me,  not 
only  for  my  happiness,  but  for  my  comfortable  existence 
His  loneii-  even.  But  in  Connecticut,  where  all  are  busy 

ness  iii  Con-    . 

necticut.  in  their  own  way,  each  about  his  own  little  im 
portant  matters,  I  have  been  so  unlike  and  peculiar,  eccen 
tric  they  say,  that  I  must  live  alone  now,  will  I,  nil  I. 
Not  that  I  complain.  I  have  gone  astray  apparently  of 
my  own  free  choice,  though  Heaven  knows,  and  I  know, 
not  so ;  and  now  I  must  go  astray  in  the  path  I  have 
chosen.  In  truth,  if  there  is  a  place  where  I  can  be 
liberally  and  generously  rewarded  for  literary  labors, 
always  supposing  they  really  and  intrinsically  deserve 
it,  and  where  I  can,  in  my  literary  character,  gain  access 
to  and  hold  a  station  in  good  society,  I  must  go  there  ; 
and  if  there  is  such  a  place  for  me,  I  believe  it  is 
Boston 

He  was  favorably  considering  the  recent  proposal  of 
Decides  to      Dr.  Hay  ward,  that  he  should  come  to  Boston  to 

remove  to 

Boston.  hve,  and  the  prospect  or  regular  literary  em 
ployment  had  great  weight  with  him.  Later  on  he  de 
cided  to  go. 

The  subject  of  a  new  edition  of  his  collected  poetry 


HIS    LITERARY    PROSPECTS.  257 

was  now  agitated.      Cummings  and  Hillard  of  Boston 
were   to   be    the    publishers.      The    following  A  new  edi- 
letter    from    Dr.    Hayward    explains    it,    and  ££t°/ hl 
touches  upon  his  removal,  and  the  review  of  talked  ot 
the  poem,  The  Dignity  of  Man. 


TO  JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

BOSTON,  April  12,  1826. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

I  have  been  in  daily  expectation,  since  I  received  your 
letter,  of  being  able  to  communicate  to  you  the  result  of 
my  negotiation  with  Cummings  and  Hillard.  I  did  not 
receive  their  answer  till  last  evening,  and  I  regret  to  say 
that  it  is  unfavorable  to  our  wishes.  The  following  is  a 
copy  of  it :  — 

BOSTON,  April  11, 1826. 
DEAR  SIR, — 

After  considering  the  subject,  we  feel  compelled  to  say 
that  we  think  it  inexpedient  for  us  to  publish  an  edition 
of  Percival's  poems  at  present.  When  done  at  all,  they 
should  be  done  in  handsome  style  in  all  respects,  which 
would  require  more  money  than  we  should  be  willing  to 
devote  to  them  in  the  present  state  of  the  money  market. 
Respectfully  yours, 

CUMMINGS,  HILLARD,  &  CO. 

The  reason  for  declining  the  publication  assigned  by 
them  I  have  no  doubt  is  the  real  and  only  one.  The 
scarcity  of  money  is  very  great  here  at  the  present  mo 
ment,  and  the  best  of  notes  sell  in  the  market  at  one  and 
a  half  per  cent  discount  a  month,  and  about  a  year  since 
money  could  be  had  at  four  per  cent  a  year.  This  state 

Q 


258  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XIV. 

of  things  cannot  long  continue.  It  is  the  effect,  probably, 
of  want  of  confidence  in  individuals,  generally  arising 
from  the  extensive  and  alarming  failures  in  England.  I 
am  confident  that  it  is  not  with  us  the  consequence  of  over 
trading,  nor  does  it  arise  from  want  of  capital ;  for  though 
it  has  continued  for  more  than  two  months,  hardly  a  fail 
ure  has  taken  place.  It  is  probable,  therefore,  that  when 
things  return  to  their  old  state,  Cummings  and  Hillard 
will  be  very  glad  to  undertake  the  publication.  I  pre 
sume  the  same  cause  would  operate  at  the  present  moment 
upon  the  proposed  publication  of  a  Biographical  Diction 
ary.  Walker  does  not  feel  quite  able  to  go  on  with  it 
alone,  and  Carter  has  heretofore  been  inclined  to  under 
take  it  with  him.  I  have  made  no  inquiries  on  this  sub 
ject,  however,  since  I  last  wrote  you.  I  trust  this  will 
not  discourage  you  from  coming  to  reside  in  Boston.  For 
I  presume  you  would  find  the  expense  but  very  little 
more  than  in  the  country,  and  your  free  access  to  books 
and  literary  society  would  more  than  compensate  for  the 
difference,  to  say  nothing  of  your  being  in  the  way  to 
avail  yourself  of  any  literary  engagement  that  might 
offer. 

I  presume  you  do  not  like  the  review  of  your  poem  in  the 
The  North  North  American.  I  am  sure  I  do  not.  I  think  it 
Review.  neither  fair  nor  just,  and  by  no  means  creditable 
to  Mr.  Henry  Ware,  the  author.  It  does  not  express  the 
general  sentiment  entertained  here  on  the  subject ;  and  I 
can  only  account  for  it  by  supposing  that  he  thought  the 
beauties  were  too  obvious  to  be  dwelt  upon,  aad  therefore 
said  but  little  of  them,  and  was  fearful  that  too  great  praise 
would  induce  you  to  write  too  much  in  haste,  and  produce 
what  he  feared  would  not  be  worthy  of  the  high  poetical 
powers  which  he  acknowledges  you  to  possess.  In  fact, 


TALK    OF    ESTABLISHING    A    PAPER.      259 

I  have  ever  considered  him  among  your  warmest  admirers ; 
and  I  presume  he  would  say  that  he  cannot  give  you  a 
stronger  proof  of  his  good  feeling  than  by  speaking  freely 
of  what  he  considers  detracts  from  the  merits  of  your 
writing 

Percival  was  again  in  Boston  in  May,  making  pro 
posals  to  publish  the  weekly  literary  paper  al-  Proposes  to 
ready  referred  to  in  a  preceding  chapter.  His  weekly 
friends  Alexander,  Dawes,  Hayward,  Hale,  Boston. 
Ticknor,  and  others  obtained  for  him  over  two  hundred 
and  twenty  subscribers,  with  the  promise  of  many  more, 
—  enough  to  insure  the  success  of  the  publication.  His 
name  was  popular  with  the  public;  and  his  friends  thought 
there  was  every  prospect  of  success.  Dr.  Hayward 
wrote :  "  I  am  confident  that  subscribers  enough  can  be 
obtained  here  to  defray  the  whole  expense  of  publication." 
But  Percival  did  not  think  so.  Subscribers  did  not  run  up 
fast  enough,  and  he  gave  it  up.  If  the  plan  had  succeeded, 
he  was  going  to  Boston  to  live.  Mr.  Nathan  Hale  and 
Dr.  George  Hayward  were  doing  all  they  could  for 
him ;  and  in  a  letter  to  Dr.  Hayward,  dated  at  Berlin, 
June  22,  1826,  he  thus  alluded  to  this  and  other 
plans  :  — 

"  I  have  eight  hundred  dollars  on  hand.     If  I  cannot 
be  supported  in  this  project  without  risk  of  loss  and  a 
prospect  of  gain,  I  choose  to  use  this  sum  in  supporting 
me  while  I  can   prepare  some  original  work  of  extent. 
Here  is  my  ambition,  —  not  in  writing  scraps  for  a  peri 
odical.     That  I  would  do  for  a  reward,  and  if  it  His  ambition 
would  establish  me ;   otherwise,  not.     I  am  in  f0°di£l^ 
no  want  of  plans  for  extended  works.     I  com-  works' 
municated  to  Mr.  Dawes  plans  for  four  tragedies,  two 


260  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XIV. 

epics,  two  moral  poems,*  and  we  discussed  a  plan  of  a 
series  of  poetical  tales.  I  say  this  to  you  because  I  have 
confided  in  you.  If  I  could  have  my  choice,  I  would 
devote  myself  to  these  labors.  I  do  not  ask  wealth  nor 
expect  it.  I  ask  only  a  respectable  competency ;  small 
even  would  content  me,  but  secure.  I  am  indifferent  to 
what  the  world  at  large  pursues,  entirely  so ;  but  I  would 
wish  to  do  much  more  in  literature  than  I  have  yet  done, 
and  let  me  say,  I  will.  Here  I  am,  and  have  long  been, 
unpleasantly  situated.  I  am  waiting  the  decision  of  this 
prospect  in  Boston  to  remove.  If  nothing  further  can  be 
done  without  my  presence  and  published  efforts,  I  decline 
it ;  but  I  have  the  highest  sense  of  your  friendly  efforts 
for  me. 

"  I  have  been  looking  over  the  loose  pieces  of  poetry  I 
have  by  me,  printed  and  in  manuscript.  I  find  they  would 
The  third  make  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  pages.  I  am 

number  of       .  .  .  . 

Clio.  inclined  to  publish  them  in  a  volume  as  a  third 

number  of  Clio.  Can  you  question  any  of  your  book 
sellers  on  the  subject?  I  would  like  to  publish,  and  then 
if  I  were  free  to  choose,  I  would  like  seriously  to  apply 
myself  to  some  extended  work.  I  think  I  must  do  this 
or  abandon  literature  entirely.  When  I  have  written  a 
book,  I  can  offer  it  to  the  public  boldly.  There  it  is,  take 
it,  if  you  please.  They  cannot  ask,  Will  he  go  on  ?  He 
has  gone  on  and  finished, — begun,  continued,  and  ended." 

*  Their  titles  were  the  following:  Tragedies,  —  Athelstan,  Partho 
nia,  New  Faust,  Orestes;  Epics,  —  Fall  of  Peruvians,  Fall  of  Alle- 
glieus;  Moral  Poems, —  Prometheus,  Part  III.,  Dream  of  the  World: 
none  of  which,  save  Athelstan,  were  ever  written  out,  and  this  only  in 
part. 


2Et?3iJ     TALK    OF    ESTABLISHING    A    PAPER.      261 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

BERLIN,  August  14,  1828. 

I  have  returned  here,  and  will  now  fulfil  my  promise 
of  writing  you  on  my  return.  I  am  entirely  willing  to 
fix  myself  in  Boston.  I  doubt  whether  I  can  find  a  place 
better  suited  to  me  as  a  literary  man ;  and  it  is  time  for 
me  to  become  such  decidedly,  or  to  seek  some  other  em 
ployment.  I  have  relied  so  long  on  my  literary  employ 
ments  that  it  will  be  very  difficult  for  me  to  engage  in 
any  other ;  and  I  am,  besides,  more  than  ever  desirous  to 
continue  them  to  some  better  purpose  than  I  have  yet 
done.  While  here,  I  feel  the  want  of  all  sympathy.  Be 
sides,  I  have  been  very  ill  used  here  by  certain  booksell 
ers,  the  details  of  which  I  may  communicate  to  you  when 
I  see  you  again.  I  am  willing  to  fix  myself  in  Conditions  of 

*  his  going  to 

Boston  without  any  other  prospect  than  this,  Boston, 
that  if  I  write  anything  in  future,  I  shall  have  a  fair  pros 
pect  of  just  and  honorable  treatment  in  the  publication 
of  it.  I  am  only  anxious  for  one  thing  in  removing 
there,  —  such  lodgings  as  I  had  talked  with  you  about 
when  I  was  in  Boston  last  January  and  May. 

These  were  chosen  for  him  by  Dr.  Hayward,  and  he 
was  to  pay  for  them  ninety  dollars  a  year.  The  Doctor 
said:  "I  am  well  satisfied  that  it  [Boston]  is  the  best 
place  for  you,  and  I  am  also  perfectly  well  satisfied  that 
you  had  better  go  on  with  your  paper."  Percival  wrote 
August  18,  1826,  that  he  should  be  ready  to  Prepares  to 
leave  Berlin  "  by  week  after  next."  But  at  the  at  the  last 

moment  de- 

last  moment,  for  some  cause  now  unknown,  he  cides  to  stay. 
decided  not  to  go.     He  went  on,  however,  a  few  months 


262  JAMES    GATES    PEECIVAL.       [CHAP.  XIV. 

after  to  attend  to  his  literary  engagements ;  and  during 
this  visit  made  a  contract  with  Mr.  Samuel  Walker  for 
the  editing  of  Malte-Brun.  As  much  that  is  peculiar 
to  Percival  hangs  upon  this  document,  I  give  it  entire :  — 

BOSTON,  November  9,  1826. 

It  is  agreed  and  understood  between  James  G.  Perci- 
Contractwith  va^  an^  Samuel  Walker,  that  said  Percival  shall 
foJ'JIfteker  prepare  by  the  first  day  of  December,  1827,  a 
Bnm  revised  edition  of  the  English  Translation  of 

Malte-Brun's  Geography,  from  the  English  edition  in 
seven  volumes,  retaining  the  original  text  entire,  and 
adding  such  matter,  in  the  form  of  notes  or  otherwise,  as 
said  Percival  shall  judge  necessary  to  adapt  the  edition 
to  the  present  state  of  geographical  knowledge,  —  that 
said  Percival  shall  not  be  required  to  furnish  any  part  of 
the  edition  sooner  than  the  1st  of  April,  1827,  nor  faster 
afterwards  than  at  the  rate  of  one  of  the  seven  original 
volumes  per  month,  —  that  said  Walker,  in  consideration 
of  the  above,  shall  pay  said  Percival  six  hundred  dollars 
in  equal  portions,  on  the  delivery  of  each  of  the  seven 
volumes  of  which  the  work  is  composed,  that  is,  at  the 
rate  of  eighty -five  dollars  and  seventy-two  cents  per  vol 
ume,  payable  on  its  delivery  to  said  Walker,  or  his  agent 
by  him  appointed,  —  and  that  said  Percival  shall  insert 
his  name  in  the  title-page  as  editor. 

S.  WALKER. 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

GEORGE  HAYWARD,  Witness. 

Clio  No.  III.  was  now  preparing  for  publication. 


CLIO    NO.    III.  263 

TO  GEORGE  HAY  WARD. 

NEW  YORK,  November  24,  1826. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

I  have  opened  a  negotiation  with  the  Carvills  for  the 
publication  of  the  volume  I  failed  in  publishing  at  Bos 
ton.  They  will  buy  an  edition  of  me;  and  the  Difficulty  in 

publishing 

only  obstacle  is  the  circumstance  that  a  part  of  ciio. 
the  poems  to  be  inserted,  those  published  in  the  Literary 
Gazette,  have  been  published  by  Cummings  and  Hillard 
in  their  volume,  "  Poems  from  the  United  States  Literary 
Gazette,"  which  they  have  copyrighted.  The  Carvills 
wish  from  Cummings  and  Hillard  a  written  declaration 
that  they  do  not  claim  the  copyright  of  my  articles  in 
particular.  This  volume  was  published  without  asking 
my  consent  to  their  assuming  the  copyright  of  my  arti 
cles,  although  I  was  notified  indirectly  after  it  was  set  on 
foot,  by  Carter,  in  a  letter  requesting  my  *  B  K  poem 
for  the  volume.  I  never  gave  them  a  direct  consent  to 
such  an  assumption  of  copyright,  and  I  think  myself  as 
much  entitled  as  they  at  least,  I  think,  indeed,  much  more, 
to  the  right  of  publishing  them  as  a  volume  of  my  own. 
I  wish  you  to  see  them,  and  obtain  from  them  a  written 
declaration,  declaring  that  they  have  no  claim  to  the  copy 
right  of  my  poems  there  inserted  in  particular,  on  my  ac 
count  alone,  without  mentioning  my  negotiation  with  any 
publisher  in  particular,  but  only  that  I  wish  it  that  I  may 
have  no  difficulty  in  publishing  them  in  any  collection  of 
my  poems  to  which  I  may  wish  to  possess  a  right.  I 
cannot  think  they  will  be  so  unjust  as  to  dispute  with  me. 
If  they  should,  I  can  quote  a  passage  from  their  Gazette 
where  they  most  distinctly  allow  this  right  to  Bryant  for 


264  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XIV. 

two  articles  originally  published  in  their  Gazette ;  and 
surely  I  have  as  good  a  right  over  my  own  productions 
as  Bryant.  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  procure  such 
a  declaration  as  soon  as  may  be,  as  the  arrangement  with 
the  Carvills  is  only  delayed  by  this  difficulty  ? 

The  publishers  kindly  yielded  the  point,  and  every 
obstacle  was  taken  away  in  publishing  the 
volume. 

He  was  now  about  engaging  himself  upon  the  correction 
Engagement  of  the  proof-sheets  of  Webster's  Unabridged 
Ser^loS"  Dictionary.  While  in  New  York  superintend- 

tionary.  ing    the    publicatjon    Qf   Clio   No.  III.,  he    Wrote 

a  letter,  dated  January  9,  1827,  to  Dr.  Hayward,  in  which 
he  says  :  — 

"  Owing  to  the  delay  of  types,  the  printing  of  the  Dic 
tionary  will  not  begin  much  before  March.  I  shall  have 
much  leisure  when  settled  in  New  Haven  for  revising 
Malte-Brun.  I  have  been  here  a  long  time  in  uncom 
fortable  suspense,  but  I  consider  my  removal  to  New 
Haven  a  fortunate  exchange.  I  have  a  particular  attach 
ment  to  that  place,  and  I  shall  for  the  present  year  be 
well  employed  there.  When  I  am  settled  there,  I  will 
send  you  word.  I  have  made  arrangements  for  publish 
ing  a  volume  with  the  Carvills.  They  will  publish  it 
probably  in  March.  Inter  nos,  I  offered  the  Greek  Com 
mittee  in  Philadelphia  all  my  poems  on  the  Greek  cause, 
printed  or  in  manuscript,  to  be  published  for  the  sole 
benefit  of  the  Greeks.  I  received  the  short  answer  that 
such  a  volume  would  not  pay  the  expense  of  paper  and 
printing.  I  shall  not  attempt  again  to  be  chivalrous." 

As  giving  insight  into  Percival's  work  upon  the  Dic 
tionary,  and  as  furnishing  the  key  to  much  that  follows,  I 


.]  SUPERVISES  WEBSTER'S  DICTIONARY.   265 


insert  the  following  document  with  its  several  modifica 
tions  entire :  — 

This  Indenture  witnesseth,  That,  whereas  Sherman  Con 
verse  proposes  to  publish  an  American  Uiction- 

The  contract. 

ary  of  the  English  Language  by  Noah  Webster, 
LL.  D.,  and  whereas  said  Converse  has  contracted  with 
Hezekiah  Howe,  of  New  Haven,  to  superintend  the 
printing  of  the  same,  it  is  mutually  understood  and 
agreed  by  and  between  said  Converse  and  James  G. 
Percival  as  follows,  viz. :  The  said  Howe  is  to  read 
the  first  proof  of  said  work,  of  each  sheet  as  it  comes 
from  the  press  and  by  copy,  to  correct  the  same,  and  to 
furnish  a  clean  proof;  which  clean  proof  the  said  Per 
cival  agrees  to  compare  with  the  proof  read  by  said 
Howe,  to  see  whether  the  errors  marked  by  the  said 
Howe  are  corrected  by  the  printer,  and  to  mark  such 
as  are  not ;  after  which  he  is  to  read  said  proof  with 
Mr.  Webster  by  copy,  which  when  read  is  to  be  cor 
rected  by  the  printer,  and  a  clean  proof  taken  for  said 
Percival,  and  one  for  Mr.  Webster  ;  which  clean  proof 
said  Percival  is  to  compare  with  the  one  already  cor 
rected,  and  mark  any  errors  previously  marked,  and  not 
corrected  by  the  printer.  Said  Percival  is  then  to  read 
the  said  proof,  and  Mr.  Webster  will  also  read  his ; 
which  two  proofs  are  to  be  corrected,  and  two  clean  proofs 
taken  ;  which  clean  proofs  said  Percival  is  to  compare 
with  those  already  corrected,  one  of  which  Mr.  Howe's 
printer  is  to  read,  and  said  Percival  the  other,  and  to  re 
vise  both  after  they  are  corrected,  by  a  clean  proof,  to 
stand  by  the  form  as  it  is  going  to  press,  to  see  that  every 
error  marked  is  corrected.  Said  Percival  is  to  see  that 
the  last  proof  read  is  taken  from  the  form  after  it  is 
12 


266  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XIV. 

placed  on  the  press  for  printing,  in  order  to  avoid  errors 
by  transferring  it  from  the  imposing-stone.  All  the  above 
readings  and  revisions  the  said  Percival  is  to  give  the 
said  proofs  promptly  and  faithfully,  and  at  the  time  the 
said  work  requires,  so  as  to  facilitate  as  far  as  possible  the 
progress  of  the  work ;  and  in  no  case  is  he  to  suffer  any 
other  engagement  to  interfere  with  a  faithful  execution 
of  this  contract.  And  if,  in  the  judgment  of  said  Percival, 
any  additional  reading  or  readings  of  any  proof  or  proofs 
of  said  work  shall  be  necessary,  said  Percival  shall  give 
it  them.  And  the  said  Percival  agrees  to  attend  to  the 
fulfilment  of  this  contract,  without  interruption,  from  the 
commencement  of  the  printing  of  said  work  to  its  comple 
tion,  except  prevented  by  sickness.  And  the  said  Con 
verse  agrees,  on  his  part,  to  pay  the  said  Percival  eight 
hundred  dollars  for  his  said  services,  to  be  rendered  as 
above,  provided  it  takes  not  exceeding  ten  months  to 
complete  the  work  ;  and  it  is  understood  that  one  sheet  of 
said  work  per  day  is  to  be  executed.  If  it  exceeds  ten 
months  to  complete  the  work,  then  said  Converse  is  to 
pay  said  Percival  in  proportion  as  for  the  ten  months. 
Said  Converse  further  agrees  to  pay  said  Percival  one 
hundred  dollars  at  the  completion  of  each  half  volume, 
and  the  remainder  at  the  completion  of  the  entire  work. 

In  witness  whereof  we  have  hereunto  set  our  hands 
this  eleventh  day  of  January,  1827,  in  New  York. 

S.  CONVERSE. 
JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

In  presence  of 
ROBERT  H.  DAVY. 
HENRY  S.  VAN  ORDEN. 


JtfsJ  SUPERVISES  WEBSTER'S  DICTIONARY.   267 


NEW  HAVEN,  July  4,  1827. 

Whereas  it  has  become  necessary  for  James  G.  Perci- 
val  to  read  the  manuscript  of  Webster's  Diction-  A  modmca- 
ary,  preparatory  to  its  being  put  in  the  hands  of tlon' 
the  compositors,  and  whereas  the  said  Percival  has  agreed 
to  read  and  correct  the  same*  which  will  be  an  extra  labor 
not  recognized  in  the  above  contract,  I  hereby  agree  to 
pay,  or  cause  the  said  Percival  to  be  paid,  for  such  extra 
service,  the  sum  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  This 
extra  service  is  to  consist  in  a  general  inspection  of  the 
whole  manuscript,  and  a  particular  inspection  of  all  the 
scientific  words,  and  a  careful  correction  of  errors  which 
he  may  discover  in  or  under  such  words,  and  a  careful 
attention  to  the  alphabetical  arrangement  of  the  whole 
vocabulary. 

S.   CONVERSE. 

NEW  HAVE.X,  August  29,  1827. 

It  is  now  ascertained  that  the  proof-readers  can  ex 
amine  only  three  sheets  per  week.  This  cir- 

J  Another. 

cumstance  is  not  to  affect  the  compensation  to 
the  said  J.  G.  Percival,  as  agreed  upon  in  the  above  con 
tract. 

S.  CONVERSE. 

NEW  HAVEN,  December  24,  1827. 

I  have  this  day  made  a  new  arrangement  with  Dr. 
Percival  as  to  his  services,  but  his  compensation  And  another. 
is  to  remain  the  same. 

S.  CONVERSE. 


268  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIV. 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  January  31,  1827. 

I  have  now  settled  myself  in  New  Haven,  at  least  till 
Settled  final-  I  have  accomplished  my  task  with  Webster's 

Haven.         Dictionary I  am  gkd,  after  all,  that  I 

am  stationed  here,  and  that  too  in  a  regular  employment. 
I  have  just  been  struck  by  an  expression  in  Campbell's 
Magazine.  I  notice  it  only  because  it  chimed  in  so  ex- 
« Authorship  actly  with  my  feelings  and  convictions,  u  Au- 
without  a  thorship  is  a  name  without  a  trade."  Even  in 
England  the  author  is  not  an  allowed  member 
of  the  social  order.  The  author  stands  out  in  prominent 
relief,  hanging  on,  like  some  connate  fatness,  only  by  the 
skin,  or  he  is  dovetailed  in  to  fill  up  some  leaking  crevice, 
hidden  by  the  deep  shade  of  some  projecting  bookseller. 
In  this  country  a  mere  author  has  no  place.  For  the 
present  year  I  have  enough  to  employ  me ;  and  the  fruits 
of  it  will  leave  me  here,  supplied  with  the  means  of 
abiding  some  other  issue,  now  uncertain,  but  which  I  may 
by  that  time  identify.  I  regret  I  ever  left  here.  Every 
man  needs  a  place  to  hail  from,  else  he  is  called  a  wan- 
The  author  derer,  without  plan  or  principle.  If  his  person 
home.  is  but  a  transitory  thing  in  place,  his  mind  is 
thought  equally  transitory  in  purpose.  Had  I  been 
merely  an  author,  and  clung  to  this  place  through  good 
and  evil,  it  would  have  been  better  for  me  on  the  whole 
than  to  have  changed  as  I  have  done,  though  I  did  it  in 
hope.  And  yet  in  executing  some  literary  labors,  this 
place  has  its  inconveniences,  —  the  want  of  references 
for  authorities.  I  find  it  will  be  so  in  preparing  the 
edition  of  Malte-Brun Yet  this  is  no  objection  to 


HIS    RELIGIOUS    VIEWS.  269 

it  with  me.  For  I  really  do  not  think  it  any  advantage  for 
me  to  be  employed  in  such  editions.  They  may  give  im 
mediate  profit,  but  I  distrust  the  final  result  of  such 
labors.  My  health  is  as  usual.  Remember  me,  with  best 
respects,  to  Mrs.  Hayward. 

The  following  is  in  reply  to  a  letter  from  Dr.  Hayward, 
inquiring  if  he  had  read  Dr.  Channing's  celebrated  ser 
mon  on  "  Unitarian  Christianity  most  favorable  to  Piety," 
and  how  he  liked  it. 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWAKD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  March  22, 1827. 
I  have  just  read  Dr.  Channing's  sermon.      When  I 

received  your  letter,  I  had  not  even  heard  of  it,  Dr.  Chan 
ning's  great 
as  I  do  not  go  into  society.     I  went  to  the  book-  sermon. 

stores,  but  could  not  find  a  copy.  They  had  had  none ; 
they  had  ordered  none ;  none  had  been  called  for.  I 
spoke  to  an  acquaintance  about  it,  who  this  morning 
brought  me  a  copy,  the  only  one  he  knew  of  in  town,  — • 
the  property  of  a  person  who  procured  it  while  in  New 

York I  have  read  it,  and  with  great  satisfaction. 

It  is  a  noble  effort,  worthy  of  Dr.  Channing.  Such  a 
religion  as  he  preaches  is  equal  to  the  higher  mind. 
Gifted  spirits,  geniuses,  will  not  turn  from  it  with  disgust 
at  its  narrowness,  puerility,  and  absurdity,  as  it  seems  to 
me  they  must  from  all  below  this  high  level.  I  have 
myself  been  considered  an  infidel  in  this  part  of  the  world ; 
and  a  thinking  and  reflecting  infidel  I  have  been,  almost 
from  a  child ,»to  the  religion  here  prevalent.  But  I  should 
most  certainly  not  wish  to  be  an  infidel  to  such  a  religion 


270  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIV. 

as  Dr.  Channing's.  I  could  not  read  his  sermon  without 
excitement.  Those  who  have  called  me  an  infidel  from 
His  own  my  works,  have  done  me  an  injustice ;  for  they 

religious  .  J 

position.  can  show  nothing  or  disrespect  to  such  a  charac 
ter  of  religion  as  this  sermon  displays.  On  the  contrary, 
there  are  many  passages  which  I  will  even  say,  myself, 
are  eloquently  religious.  I  certainly  did  not  write  them 
without  emotion  and  high  emotion.  Where  I  have  seemed 
to  revolt  against  religion,  it  was  only  that  gloomy  and 
absurd  and  cruel  system  of  orthodoxy  which  was  a  torment 
to  me  till  I  rejected  it,  and  which  I  am  sure  must  be 
uncomfortable  to  all,  even  to  its  most  devoted  professors. 
It  is  like  crowding  our  free  limbs  into  clothes  of  iron.  I 
have  thought  much  on  the  physical  argument  in  support 
of  religion,  —  the  purely  physical ;  and  I  must  confess,  I 
cannot  see  anything  decisive  there.  My  opinion  is,  that 
religion  is  the  growth  of  the  feelings.  Of  course  the  cir 
cumstances  in  which  man  is  placed  must  greatly  modify 
his  religion.  I  cannot  see  the  necessity  of  recurring  to  a 
separate  first  cause  for  the  production  of  the  universe. 
We  know  very  little  of  the  powers  of  matter  and  its  opera 
tions  ;  and  at  the  same  time  we  know  so  very  much  more 
than  we  did  a  century  ago,  that  I  do  not  think  we  can  say 
at  present  that  the  inherent  powers  of  matter  are  not 
adequate  to  all  the  effects  visible  to  us.  But  though  I 
freely  confess  an  opinion  which  some  might  start  from, 
yet  I  am  as  much  persuaded  that  religion  is  a  necessary 
result  of  our  moral  constitution,  a  spontaneous  growth  of 
feeling.  Like  everything  else,  it  is  susceptible  of  cultiva 
tion.  The  savage  sees  a  separate  controlling  power  in 
every  great  operation  of  nature.  The  Persian  had  his 
good  and  evil  principle.  Judaism  taught  a  unity  sur 
rounded  by  a  paraphernalia  of  forms.  Christianity,  such 


ff^\  HIS    RELIGIOUS    VIEWS.  271 

as  Dr.  Charming  teaches  it,  and  as  he  believes  it  was 
taught  by  Christ,  teaches  a  pure  and  spiritual  unity  suited 
to  the  highest  cultivation  of  our  intellectual  and  moral 
nature,  —  the  only  religion  fitted  for  a  philosopher  and  a 
poet,  in  the  proper  sense  of  that  word.  If  the  great  body  of 
Christians  are  Trinitarian,  it  must  be  because  pure  Chris 
tianity,  when  embraced  by  the  Gentiles,  became  mixed 
with  their  idolatry  and  polytheism,  or  else  the  Gospel 
itself  is  not  fitted  for  the  most  enlightened  state  of  the 
human  mind.  Certain  I  am,  that  the  man  who  can  read 
Dr.  Channing's  sermon  and  then  willingly  go  back  to 
doctrines  of  less  elevation  and  less  purity,  deserves  to  stay 
there.  His  mind  is  in  bonds  which  I  do  not  envy  him, 
however  much  he  hugs  them.  But  this  is  a  place  where 
such  doctrines  are  not  to  be  spoken  on  the  New  Haven 
house-top.  It  would  effect  little  among  the orthodox- 
people,  and  greatly  discomfort  their  advocates.  They  are 
free  here  from  the  pure  light  of  Unitarianism.  They 
love  their  darkness.  They  want  nothing  to  light  it  but 
the  fires  of  hell.  They  have  a  deeply  organized  system 
of  Jesuitism  here,  and  they  will  long  hold  together.  The 
college,  too,  is  orthodox,  the  centre  of  education  societies 
and  pious  youth.  I  like  the  place  ;  it  is  a  beautiful  town, 
and  the  environs  are  to  me  delightful ;  but  I  am  alone 
among  the  people.  But  solitude  is  to  me  a  second 
nature. 

In  a  letter  to  Dr.  Hayward,  dated  New  Haven,  May 
3,  1827,  he  complains  of  the  English  edition  of  Malte- 
Brun ;  and  after  giving  specimens  of  bad  translation,  goes 
on  to  say  :  — 

"  Such  is  the  translation  which  Longmans'  (the  pub 
lishers)  Literary  Gazette  pronounces  faithful  and  elegant. 


272  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIV. 

So  much  for  book-making  and  self-puffing.  In  truth,  it 
His  labor  in  sickens  me.  In  examining  this  translation.  I 

editing 

Maite-Brun.  have  found  such  a  show  of  carelessness  and 
ignorance,  and  such  arrant  effrontery,  in  the  puffs  of  hired 
critics,  that  it  has  made  me  melancholy.  Literature  is 
indeed  in  a  pitiable  state,  completely  the  slave  of  inob- 
ocracy,  the  pander  of  idleness  and  perverted  taste,  or  the 
tool  of  the  speculating  bookseller.  It  would  be  better  if 
kings  and  nobles  were  patrons  even  at  the  expense  of 
fulsome  dedications.  *  If  the  tyranny  of  one  man  is  in 
tolerable,'  says  Watson,  '  the  tyranny  of  a  thousand  is  a 
thousand  times  more  so.'  The  necessity  of  revising  and 
correcting  the  translation  throughout  (for  it  is  a  necessity 
to  me,  appearing  as  I  do  the  editor  of  the  edition),  this 
necessity  adds  much  to  my  labor  in  a  way  not  contem 
plated  in  the  contract.  The  detection  and  correction  of 
these  errors  might  be  of  very  great  service  to  Walker's 
edition,  and  as  without  it,  I  shall  do  all  that  was  re 
quired  in  the  contract,  retaining  the  original  text  (of  the 
English  edition)  entire,  and  adding  such  matter  in  the 
form  of  notes  or  otherwise  as  I  may  judge  necessary  to 
adapt  the  edition  to  the  present  state  of  geographical 
knowledge,  it  would  seem  as  if  this  new  labor  were  de 
serving  of  an  additional  compensation  ;  at  least  I  ought 
to  be  allowed  for  it  sufficient  time.  But  I  must  first  re 
ceive  the  English  edition,  and  then  I  shall  prepare  and 
forward  the  volumes  as  fast  as  my  other  and  paramount 
duties  will  permit. 

"The  printing  of  the  Dictionary  has  not  yet  commenced. 
Ready  for      It  has  been  delaved  by  waiting  for  paper  and 

the  Die-  *  * 

tionary.  types.  But  they  are  constantly  expecting  to 
begin  it.  The  workmen  are  ready  and  the  materials  are 
hourly  expected.  After  much  delay  I  have  received  the 


HIS    LITERARY    POSITION.  273 

first  proof  of  Clio  No.  III.,  publishing  by  the  Carvills.  It 
will  be  done  in  very  handsome  style,  and  will  make  over 
one  hundred  and  fifty  pages.  I  have  written  for  Carey 
and  Lea,  but  they  are  rather  disposed  to  reduce  my  com 
pensation,  by  putting  off  part  till  next  year,  as  they  did 
last  year.  I  write  for  them  for  profit,  and  they  must  pay 
me.  I  sent  them  only  what  they  requested  last  year,  and 
yet  they  would  reduce  it.  I  doubt  whether  I  shall  send 
them  anything  again.  What  they  do  not  use  this  year,  I 
shall  recall.  I  was  asked  to  write  for  a  Souvenir  in  New 
York,  but  it  has  fallen  through.  Your  Boston  Souvenirs 
(Memorial  and  Token)  think  of  supplying  themselves  by 
offering  prizes.  They  will  get  nothing  from  me.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  not  to  trifle  any  more  with  win  not 
magazines,  souvenirs,  etc.,  but  to  prepare  my  more  fo/ 
own  volumes  well,  and  get  them  published,  if  SJfJSu'JJk. 
I  can,  to  my  advantage.  I  am  tired  of  dealing  hsh  books- 
with  booksellers,  myself.  If  some  friend  on  whose  honor 
and  ability  I  might  rely  would  take  my  manuscripts  and 
attend  to  their  publication,  it  would,  I  think,  give  me 
more  spirit  to  attempt  something  new  and  extended  than 
I  can  have,  if  I  have,  besides  the  exertion  of  conceiving 
and  executing,  the  care  and  vexation  of  attending  to  its 
publication.  I  do  not  intend  to  rely  on  my  literary  efforts 
at  all.  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  idle  to  expect  any  com 
pensation  for  such  literary  efforts  as  I  have  made  ;  and 
my  success  in  any  new  attempt  (as  at  novels  or  even 
the  more  useful  class  of  school-books)  is  at  least 

Depression. 

doubtful.    I  have  many  things  to  depress  me, — 
bad  health,  domestic  relations,  etc.;  still  I  would  not  yield. 
My  time  for  the  present  year  will  be  too  much  occupied 
to  think  of  much  beside  my  necessary  employments ;  but 
when  it  has  passed,  I  may  find  leisure  to  attempt  some- 

12*  K 


274  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIV. 

thing  more  worthy  of  me  than  I  have  yet  done.  For 
His  poetry  even  the  longest  things  I  have  written  were  only 
men6tafryg"  short  and  sudden  efforts,  without  any  precon 
ceived  plan,  and  with  very  little  if  any  correc 
tion.  None  of  them  occupied  over  a  fortnight.  They 
were  rather  the  turnings  of  the  lyre,  broken  and  irreg 
ular  preludes,  than  any  harmonized  flow  of  music.  But 
I  would  do  something  better,  something  formal  and  fitted 
into  one  harmonious  whole." 


TO  GEORGE  HAY  WARD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  May  24,  1827. 

I  received  this  morning  a  letter  from  S.  A.  Mitchell,  a 
publisher  in  Philadelphia,  stating  that  he  was  now  pub 
lishing,  in  the  name  of  A.  Finley,  an  edition  of  Malte- 

Brun  in  four  volumes,  at  two  dollars  a  volume I 

learnt  by  Mitchell's  letter,  for  the  first  time,  that  Walker 

had   announced   the    edition  as  edited  by  me I 

write  to  you  instead  of  Walker,  because  I  have  a  confi 
dence  that  you  will  take  my  place  and  effect  an  arrange 
ment  as  if  I  were  present.  I  believe  I  have  communicated 
to  you  all  my  difficulties  in  regard  to  this  edition. 

His  choice  of  a  third  person  in  his  dealings  with  his 
A  character-  publisher  was  characteristic.  He  had  no  confi 
dence  in  booksellers  as  a  clas*,  and  his  suspi 
cions  were  easily  excited.  Much  of  his  trouble  now  and 
earlier  and  later  arose  from  his  fear  that  they  might  take 
advantage  of  him.  This  want  of  confidence  was  due  in 
part  to  his  early  and  unfortunate  experience  with  Mr. 
Maltby  and  Mr.  Wiley  in  the  publication  of  his  poetry. 


SEVERE    NATURE    OF    HIS    TASKS.          275 

Dr.  Hayward  was  exceedingly  urgent  that  Pereival 
should  criticise  Cooper's  "  Prairie "  for  the  is  urged 
North  American  Review,  wishing  to  have  justice 
done  him  and  nothing  more ;  but  though  he 
had,  as  has  been  already  seen,  a  contemptible  Review- 
opinion  of  Cooper's  writings,  he  had  no  leisure  to  prepare 
such  an  article.  He  was  now  hard  at  work  upon  his  lit 
erary  tasks,  debating,  too,  in  his  own  mind,  whether  he 
was  adequately  paid  for  his  services.  The  work  upon  the 

Dictionary  had  increased  from  a   revision   of  The  work  on 
'  .  the  Diction- 

proof-sheets  to  a  partial  correction  of  the  an-  ary  unex- 

.  .  pectedly 

thor's  manuscript  before   it  was   put  into   the  hard;  so  also 

on  Malte- 

hands  of  the  compositors ;  and  after  having  Bran, 
been  paid  more  reasonably  for  his  work,  he  consented  to 
go  on.  The  work  on  Malte-Brun  was  also  more  difficult 
than  it  at  first  appeared.  He  did  not  know  how  hard  it 
was ;  he  was  not  used  to  such  undertakings ;  his  only 
experience  had  been  the  editing  of  the  Elegant  Extracts  ; 
and  now  in  anticipation  that  the  work  would  reach  seven 
volumes,  he  wished  one  thousand  dollars  for  it.  He  says 
of  the  progress  of  the  work,  July  1,  1827  :  — 

"  I  believe  I  am  now  fully  aware  of  all  that  is  neces 
sary  in  preparing  the  edition.  I  have  the  American 
edition  marked  for  annotation,  though  this  will  be  of  no 
use  in  revision.  I  have  collected  a  considerable  body 
of  materials  for  notes,  and  shall  give  all  the  best  time 
I  can  steal  from  the  Dictionary,  or  rather  which  the 
Dictionary  will  leave  me,  to  finish  the  task." 

To  the  increased  compensation  for  Malte-Brun  Mr. 
Walker  kindly  and  cheerfully  consented.  Of  his  prog 
ress  in  the  other  work,  he  wrote  at  the  same  time  as 
follows  :  — 

"  The  Dictionary  is  under  way,  but  progresses  slowly. 


276  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIV. 

At  its  present  rate  of  progression,  it  will  be  almost  a 
The  Diction-  life-interest  with   me.     It  obliges  me  to  close 

ary  a  life- 
interest,         and  lengthy  application,  but  on  the  whole,  it  is 

not  an  uninteresting  or  uninstructive  employment."  * 


TO   GEORGE   HAY  WARD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  July  11,  1827. 

I  have  felt  myself  long  very  unpleasantly  situated  in  re- 
New  terms  on  gard  to  this  Geography,  but  I  trust  it  will  now 
nofSSSc-  be  definitely  arranged.  I  do  not  think  I  have 
gained  by  the  change  of  terms.  I  had  rather 
have  prepared  the  edition  strictly  according  to  the  contract 
for  six  hundred  dollars  than  as  at  present  arranged  for  nine 
hundred  dollars.  The  labor  would  have  been  proportion 
ately  higher  paid.  But  the  present  engagement  I  have 
consented  to,  and  shall  endeavor  to  adhere  to.  The  pres 
ent  employments  in  which  I  am  engaged  are  better  paid 
than  I  have  ever  been,  but  I  fear  they  will  prove  too 
severe  for  me.  They  are  new  labor ;  and  as  an  author  I 
cannot  but  regret  that  my  books  have  not  been  so  profit 
able  as  to  enable  me  to  devote  myself  to  my  own  pur 
suits.  I  have  published  enough  to  place  me  beyond  the 
necessity  of  mere  drudgery,  if  there  was  any  merit  in 
what  I  have  published  deserving  of  a  reward.  But  I 
have  found  that  complaint  only  recoils  on  the  complainant. 

Cannot  write  ^7  time  wil1   be   to°  much  Occupied  to  think  of 

reviews.  anything  beyond  my  present  engagements.  I 
cannot  therefore  write  any  reviews,  although  I  should  be 
very  happy  to  comply  with  your  wishes. 

*  In  reply  to  a  friend  who  once  asked  him  if  the  Dictionary  was 
not  a  dry  work,  he  said :  "  I  took  more  pleasure  in  editing  Webster's 
Dictionary  than  in  anything  else  I  have  done." 


JSfaa.]       SEVERE    NATURE    OF    HIS    TASKS.          277 

Thus  with  a  characteristic  infirmity  he  sees  the  bad  side 
of  a  new  bargain  as  soon  as  it  was  fairly  made.  He  was  anx 
ious  for  his  own  reputation  that  his  work  should  be  in  every 
way  correct ;  and  this  care,  even  with  increased  remuner 
ation,  did  not  make  his  pay  proportionately  better.  Ho 
was  now  to  have  one  hundred  and  thirty  dollars  per  vol 
ume.  The  second  volume  was  to  be  delivered  in  October, 
1827,  and  the  succeeding  volumes  once  in  two  months. 
Two  numbers  or  parts,  as  published,  were  to  make  a  vol 
ume.  And  if  the  work  was  increased  by  having  to 
translate  from  the  original  edition  in  French,  Percival 
was  to  be  paid  still  more ;  and  as  the  agreement  now 
stood,  he  was  to  receive  five  hundred  dollars  in  several 
payments,  over  and  above  the  compensation  per  volume, 
on  the  completion  of  the  work.  The  following  advertise 
ment,  sent  out  with  the  first  volume,  gives  some  idea  of 
his  labor:  — 

My  object  in  preparing  a  new  edition  of  Malte-Brun's 
Geography  was,  at  first,  simply  to  communicate  states  MS 

.  .  .  .  labors  on 

such  additional  information,  and  make  such  cor-  Maite-Brun. 
rections  in  matters  of  fact,  in  the  form  of  notes  or  other 
wise,  as  I  might  deem  important  to  adapt  this  edition  to 
the  present  state  of  geographical  knowledge.  As  it  is 
some  years  since  the  publication  of  this  translation  was 
begun  in  Great  Britain  (1821),  there  was  room  for  im 
provement  in  these  particulars.  The  voyages  of  Parry 
and  the  journeys  of  Franklin  and  Denham  have  alone 
furnished  materials  for  very  considerable  additions  to  our 
previous  stock  of  knowledge.  Such  were  the  limits  of 
my  engagements ;  nor  did  I  expect  to  find  myself  neces 
sitated  to  undertake  a  new  task.  I  took  it  for  granted 
that  the  English  translation  was,  what  it  professed  to  be, 


278  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIV. 

faithful  and  exact.  Before  commencing  my  editorial 
labors,  I  carefully  perused  this  translation,  and,  in  the 
course  of  this  perusal,  I  observed  many  passages  so  false 
and  absurd,  that  I  felt  confident  they  could  not  have  been 
so  written  in  the  original.  I  procured  a  copy  of  the  origi 
nal,  and,  on  comparison,  I  found  my  previous  opinions 
confirmed,  and  that  every  passage  which  I  had  marked 
was  a  mistranslation. 

Convinced  of  the  inaccuracy  of  the  English  translation, 
I  have  revised  it  on  the  original,  and  I  must  say  that  the 
amount  of  its  errors  has  surprised  me.  Scarce  a  page  is 
without  its  mistakes,  and  many  pages  are  literally  crowded 
with  them.  Any  one,  interested  in  observing  them,  may 
compare  this  edition  with  the  Boston  8vo  edition,  which 
has  faithfully  followed  the  English  edition,  even  in  the 
greater  part  of  its  typographical  errors.  Any  one  who 
makes  such  a  comparison  cannot  fail  to  observe  the  dif 
ference,  particularly  in  Books  VII.  -  XII.  inclusive  ;  and 
in  Books  XX.  and  XXI.  I  do  not  choose  to  make  these 
assertions  without  proof,  and  for  this  purpose  I  have  col 
lected  a  number  of  the  more  important  errors,  in  which  I 
have  given,  first,  the  original ;  then,  the  English  transla 
tion  ;  and,  lastly,  my  own  revision.  The  reader  will  see, 
from  these  examples,  that  the  errors  are  by  no  means 
trifling.  I  have  endeavored  to  give  the  exact  meaning 
of  the  original  in  every  instance,  and,  if  I  have  failed  in 
point  of  elegance,  I  trust  I  have  not  in  accuracy. 

"  C'est  apres  les  substances  volcaniques  qu'il  convient  de  nommer 
A  compari-  ce^'es  ^Ul  doivent  a  1'action  des  incendies  souterrains  des 
son  of  edi-  ddptits  de  charbon  de  terre."  —  p.  271. 

"It  is  proper,  after  volcanic  substances,  to  mention 
those  which  owe  to  the  action  of  subterraneous  fires  their  deposits  of 
coal:1  —  p.  262. 

It  is  proper,  after  volcanic  substances,  to  mention  those  which  oiue 
their  oriyin  to  subterraneous  fires  in  beds  of  coal ;  e.  g.  porcelain  jasper. 


JSJ       SEVERE    NATURE    OF    HIS    TASKS.          279 

"  We  may  consider  the  lofty  and  steep  mountains  of  Arabia  Felix 
as  the  link  which  connects  the  mountains  of  Lupata  with  the  plateaus 
and  mountains  of  Persia,  on  the  side  of  Tliibet."  —  pp.  175,  176. 

We  may  consider  the  lofty  and  steep  mountains  of  Arabia  Feiix  as 
the  link  which  connects  the  mountains  of  Lupata  with  the  plateaus  and 
mountains  of  Persia,  which  come  from  Thibet. 

"  -  on  n'y  trouve  que  de  petites  falaises  calcaires."  —  p.  179. 
"  -  consisting  chiefly  of  calcareous  matter."  —  p.  171. 
-  we  find  there  only  low  limestone  bluffs. 

"  -  d'anciennes  cotes  par  collines."  —  p.  179. 
the  ancient  sides  of  low  hills."  —  p.  171. 


-  coasts  originally  formed  by  hills. 

"  Les  cotes  escarpe'es  et  dentele'es:  elles  sont  ceintes  de  rochers,  soit 
au-dessus,  soit  au-dessous  de  1'eau."  —  p.  178. 

"  We  have  those  which  are  abrupt  and  broken,  and  as  it  were 
notched,  formed  by  various  masses  of  rocks  united  at  their  bases, 
either  above  or  beneath  the  surface  of  the  water."  —  p.  170. 

Steep  and  indented  coasts  :  these  are  girt  with  rocks,  either  above  or 
below  the  surface  of  the  water. 

"  Rarement  on  voit  les  hautes  valldes  s'elargir  successivement  et 
s'identifier  peu  a  peu  avec  les  plaines.  La  plupart  du  terns  elles  sont 
presque  barrels  par  un  angle  saillant  de  la  chaine  de  montagnes  qui 
leur  sert  de  ceinture."  —  p.  176. 

"  In  a  few  instances  these  high  valleys  have  been  observed  to  enlarge 
themselves  at  different  and  successive  periods,  and  gradually  to  become 
identified  with  the  plains.  They  have  been  for  ages  almost  completely 
barred,  and  confined  by  some  projecting  angle  of  the  chain  of  moun 
tains,  which  girds  them  in."  —  p.  169. 

In  a  few  instances  these  high  valleys  are  observed  to  widen  grad 
ually,  and  so  to  become  identified  with  the  plains.  They  are  usually  al 
most  completely  barred,  and  confined  by  some  projecting  angle  of  the 
chain  of  mountains  which  girds  them  in.  —  This  I  consider  a  memora 
ble  example. 

"  La  construction  des  deux  problemes  pre'ce'dens  demande,  par  rap 
port  a  la  reduction  des  lieues  parcourues  dans  le  sens  est  et  ouest,  en 
degre"s  de  longitude,  Pernploi  des  tables  des  latitudes  croissantes"  etc. 
—  p.  143. 

"  The  construction  of  the  two  preceding  problems  requires,  with 
respect  to  the  reduction  of  leagues  gone  over  in  the  direction  east  and 
west,  in  degrees  of  longitude,  the  employment  for  tfie  tables  for  meas 
uring  latitudes,'"  etc.  —  p.  137. 


280  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIV. 

The  construction  of  the  two  preceding  problems  requires,  with  re 
spect  to  the  reduction  of  leagues  gone  over  in  the  direction  east  and 
west,  to  degrees  of  longitude,  the  employment  of  the  tables  of  increas 
ing  latitudes,  etc. 

" a  negliger."  —  p.    113.  "  in   regulating."  —  p.    109. 

in  neglecting. 

I  have  given  the  above  as  examples  of  the  inaccura 
cies  in  the  English  translation.  I  might  have  increased 
the  number  to  a  much  greater  amount ;  but  these  will 
suffice  to  substantiate  the  assertion  that  the  translation  is 
by  no  means  an  accurate  one.  I  have  attempted  to  cor 
rect  this  evil,  and  I  trust  I  have,  at  least  in  part,  succeed 
ed.  The  present  edition  will,  therefore,  not  only  contain 
a  body  of  notes,  embracing  such  additional  information 
and  corrections  of  fact  as  I  have  thought  essential,  but  an 
entire  revision  of  the  translation  on  the  original. 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

August  14,  1827. 

Of  his  new  volume  he  also  says  :  — 

"  It  will  be  out  in  a  fe.w  days.  I  do  not  expect  to  reap 
His  new  from  it  either  fame  or  money  ;  but  it  will  be  out 
volume.  m  a  voiurne)  an(j  t}iat  wju  be  something.  It  will 
be  very  handsomely  executed.  I  share  profits,  and  of 
course  I  do  not  expect  a  great  dividend.  I  do  not  cal 
culate  on  any.  I  told  you  in  one  of  my  last  that  John 
Miller  had  written  me  on  his  edition.  He  told  me  it 
had  not  taken,  most  of  the  edition  remained  unsold,  and 
that  he  had  lost  one  hundred  pounds  by  it.  I  must  truly 
say  I  have  not  one  solitary  outward  motive  for  taking 
another  step  in  literature,  —  not  one  ;  but  this  will,  I 
trust,  rather  increase  the  internal  impulse.  It  will  act 
like  persecution.  I  want  leisure  and  support.  I  must 
gain  them  both  by  labor,  and  then  I  will  have  a  literary 


SEVERE    NATURE    OF    HIS    TASKS.          281 

vacation,  at  least  till  I  have  added  something  to  the  ten 
hundred  and  sixty  pages  (not  repeated)  which  I  have  al 
ready  published.  What  I  may  write  this  year,  if  any- 
thing,  will  be  only  fugitive,  such  jets  as  may  escape  from 
the  safety-valve  of  my  imagination.  For  this  year  must 
be  devoted  to  raising  the  steam,  and  then  I  will  try  a  long 
voyage.  Four  years  ago,  while  here,  I  wrote  a  transla 
tion  of  JEschylus's  Prometheus.  I  have  it  by  His  transia- 

tion  of  Pro- 

me.      That  I  intend  as  the  basis  of  my  first  metheus. 
volume,  in  which   I  will   gather   the   powers   of  many 
Helicons,  with  some  of  my  own,  or  at  least  some  that 
will  rise  in  my  own  soil,  although  the  seed  may  be  bor 
rowed  from  another." 

The  following  criticism  of  this  number  of  Clio  is  taken 
from  the  Southern  Review  for  May,  1828.  It  is  in  the 
trenchant  style  of  a  young  magazine,  though  its  criticisms 
are  spiced  with  a  good  deal  of  truth  :  — 

"  We  think  Mr.  Percival  capable  of  arriving  at  a  high 
degree  of  excellence  in  a  certain  species  of  it  is  criti- 
poetry.  We  do  not,  indeed,  consider  him  as  southern116 
a  man  either  of  great  genius  or  of  profound  Ileview' 
sensibility.  In  the  volume  before  us,  he  has  touched 
upon  several  subjects  calculated  to  call  forth  his  pathos, 
if  he  had  any.  We  see  nothing  more  than  a  certain 
tender  and  poetic  pensiveness,  which,  although  a  very 
pretty  thing,  is  still  very  distinct  from  the  agonies  and 
energies  of  deep  passion.  In  this  respect,  Mr.  Percival 
resembles,  in  some  measure,  another  of  our  men  of  talent, 
we  mean  Washington  Irving,  who  (whether  it  be  heresy 
or  not,  we  will  say  it)  appears  to  us  to  have  much  more 
sentimentalism  than  sensibility.  But  Mr.  Percival's  dic 
tion  is,  in  many  instances,  highly  poetical,  especially  when 
he  is  revelling  in  visions  of  Oriental  magnificence,  or 


282  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIV. 

painting  (as  he  loves  to  do)  the  soft  beauties  and  balmy 
fragrance  of  some  delicious  Southern  climate.  We  think 
him  fitted  to  excel  in  this  sort  of  description." 

In  December,  1827,  a  writer  in  the  American  Quar- 
Andmthe     terly  Review,  criticising  the  third  number  of 

American 

Quarterly.  Clio,  made  the  following  very  just  remarks : 
"  Unlike  the  poets  of  highest  renown,  Mr.  Percival  holds 
more  intercourse  with  nature  than  with  his  own  race. 
The  clouds,  and  the  mountains,  and  the  ever-changing 
and  yet  eternal  beauties  of  the  earth,  are  his  delight. 
His  Muse  meditates  in  loneliness.  He  tells  us  more  of 
his  own  sensations  when  his  mind  is  wrought  upon  by 
poetic  excitement  than  of  the  sympathies  of  others.  It 
is  a  metaphysical  passion  for  nature  ;  a  sublime  and  self- 
denying  and  almost  misanthropic  spirit  of  meditation  ;  an 
indifference  to  the  great  mass  of  men,  that  we  most  fre 
quently  meet  in  his  poetry."  Of  his  popularity  the  writer 
says :  "  While  some  of  Mr.  Percival's  shorter  poems  have 
been  general  favorites,  his  longer  pieces  have  been  almost 
as  a  sealed  book."  "We  acknowledge  his  superior  powers, 
the  profusion  with  which  he  pours  forth  the  most  varied 
imagery,  the  richness  and  the  charm  of  his  diction,  the  ele 
vated  sentiments  and  train  of  thought  in  his  poetry ;  we 
delight  to  bear  our  testimony  to  his  surpassing  merit ; 
and  yet  his  volumes  are  hardly  favorites,  and,  except, 
perhaps,  a  few  of  his  shorter  efforts,  excite  admiration 
rather  than  impart  pleasure.  They  awaken  a  respect  for 
the  genius  of  the  writer,  rather  than  the  enthusiasm 
which  the  best  poets  know  how  to  kindle."  And  pass 
ing  to  a  minuter  criticism,  in  which  he  dwells  upon  Per 
cival's  well-known  peculiarities,  he  says:  "Of  the  sonnets, 
several  are  highly  wrought  and  of  great  delicacy.  Among 
the  smaller  pieces,  there  are  not  a  few  that  seem  to  us  to 


SEVERE    NATURE    OF    HIS    TASKS.          283 

be  of  very  great  merit.  What  can  be  more  beautiful  of 
the  kind  than  the  Reign  of  May  ?  —  a  poem  which  we 
should  quote  entire,  but  that  it  has  already  been  printed 
so  often,  and  which  is  written  in  the  true  spirit  of  one 
that  intimately  communes  with  nature,  and  understands 
her  beauties."  "  On  the  whole,  we  think  this  volume 
gives  evidence  of  a  great  variety  of  powers,  extensive 
studies,  and  an  earnest  effort  to  improve  them.  It  is 
superior  to  either  of  the  former  numbers  of  Clio ;  it  is 
one  of  the  best  volumes  of  poetry  that  have  appeared 
among  us  ;  and  though  posterity  may  take  but  a  little  of 
it,  still  it  contains  very  valuable  contributions  to  the  per 
manent  literature  of  the  country." 


TO   GEORGE  HAY  WARD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  August  14,  1827. 

My  time  is  very  fully  occupied  with  the  Dictionary. 
I  ought  not  really  to  have  so  much  on  my  hands  His  hands 
as  at  present.  It  has  arisen  from  circumstances  ful1  of  work* 
which  I  did  not  foresee  and  could  not  calculate  on.  I 
engaged  in  the  Geography  with  the  expectation  of  having 
a  correct  translation,  and  in  the  Dictionary  with  the  ex 
pectation  of  having  my  labors  confined  to  a  mere  correc 
tion  of  proofs.  These  two  tasks  would  have  been  enough 
for  once,  and  as  much  as  I  ought  to  engage  in.  But  now 
the  entire  revision  of  the  translation  in  the  one,  and  a  new 
and  necessary  task  in  the  other,  have  greatly  increased 
my  labors  ;  and  although  my  time  is  lengthened,  it  is  all 
but  too  much  for  me.  Besides,  I  am  not  paid  in  propor 
tion  to  my  additional  labor.  Still  I  will  force  my  way 
through,  if  possible.  I  suppose  I  must  make  up  my  mind 


284  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIV. 

to  such  pursuits  for  life ;  but  if  so,  I  will  engage  less  at 
once ;  at  least,  I  will  leave  myself  some  leisure,  which  I 
value  more  than  any  emoluments  I  can  ever  expect  from 
anything  I  can  do. 


TO   GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  August  28,  1827. 

I  have  observed  in  the  Boston  Lyceum  *  some  rather 
His  employ-  ungracious  allusions  to  my  present  employment 

meut  the  cor-  t  Ti  .  J 

recting  of  here.  It  seems  they  cannot  allow  me  to  be 
quiet  in  any  employment.  I  do  not  think  my 
present  employment  of  correcting  blunders  is  a  very  ele 
vated  one,  yet  it  is  at  least  not  a  useless  nor  an  idle  one. 
I  am  doing  more  service  to  my  country  than  they  may 
imagine.  It  may  be  a  negative  service  in  itself,  yet  in 
its  results  it  will  prove  a  positive  service.  I  should  be 
very  weak  to  regard  every  idle  personal  remark  like  that, 
yet  I  cannot  but  wish  that  even  the  writer  of  that  had  no 
occasion  for  it ;  for  my  present  employment  is  not  one  I 
His  tasks  covet  at  all.  Both  my  tasks  are  unpleasant. 
They  add  nothing  to  my  mind  or  its  facilities. 
They  are  mere  labor ;  but  they  accustom  me  to  patience. 
I  yield  to  them  because  I  have  no  hope  of  making  my 
literary  talents  my  means  even  of  bare  subsistence.  You 
may  perhaps  think  me  wrong  in  this,  but  it  is  a  persua 
sion  which  I  fear  will  never  leave  me.  For  this  reason 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  yield  myself  to  serviceable 
labor.  In  this  way  I  can  at  least  say  I  have  something 
that  is  my  own. 

*  This  was  edited  by  Frederic  S.  Hill,  an  aspiring  young  man  who 
dealt  in  literature  till  he  could  do  better  elsewhere. 


SEVERE    NATURE   OF    HIS    TASKS.          285 

The  demands  made  in  the  following  letter  were  very 
cordially  yielded  to  by  Mr.  Converse,  the  con-  Relations  of 

J  J  /  '  .          Percival  to 

tractor  for  the  Dictionary,  so  that  Percival  Dr.  Webster. 
went  on  without  further  difficulty.  And  yet  I  may 
add  that  Percival's  relations  to  the  author,  Dr.  Webster, 
were  not  always  the  pleasantest.  They  both  had  a  good 
degree  of  independence  and  firmness  ;  and  it  was  Per 
cival's  peculiarity  that  when  he  thought  he  was  right, 
nothing  could  change  him.  He  was  a  much  more  thor 
ough  scholar  in  etymologies  and  the  scientific  bearings  of 
words  than  Dr.  Webster ;  and  this  can  be  truly  said  with 
out  disparagement.  Hence  he  held  on  to  his  opinions 
with  great  tenacity,  and  was  unwilling  that  any  words 
should  pass  through  his  hands,  unless  they  were  cor 
rectly  defined  and  set  forth  in  every  particular.  Dr. 
Webster  did  not  regard  such  accuracy  as  absolutely 
necessary,  and  his  time  was  too  valuable  to  be  wasted 
in  controversies.  It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that  Perci 
val  and  Dr.  Webster  often  parted,  at  the  Doctor's  study, 
both  thoroughly  vexed  at  each  other,  nor  that  finally 
these  disputes  over  literary  inaccuracies,  through  Perci 
val's  honest  zeal  and  Dr.  Webster's  honest  pride  of  posi 
tion,  should  ultimately,  as  they  did,  lead  Percival  to 
discontinue  his  labors. 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  December  4,  1827. 

I  must  give  up  my  engagement  with  the  Dictionary,  or 
it  must  be  essentially  modified.     I  cannot  any  His  daily 
longer  endure  the  labor  I  have  gone  through.  work> 
I  will  give  my  occupation  for  two  days  in  getting  out  one 


286  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XIV. 

sheet.  I  begin  (say  Monday  morning)  at  seven  o'clock, 
A.  M.,  with  reading  the  first  proof  from  the  manuscript, 
and  get  it  ready  for  the  printer  by  five  o'clock,  p.  M.  I 
cannot  do  it  in  less  time.  Then  as  soon  as  I  can  set 
about  it,  I  take  up  the  manuscript  for  the  next  sheet,  about 
which  I  am  often  occupied  till  nine  or  ten  o'clock.  This 
depends  on  the  amount  of  revision.  I  am  then  quite  ex 
hausted  enough  to  go  to  bed.  I  take  the  manuscript  next 
morning  early  to  the  author  and  make  revisions  on  his 
authorities,  and  settle  with  him  the  corrections.  This 
occupies  till  ten  o'clock,  sometimes  eleven  or  more.  I  im 
mediately  sit  down  then  to  the  second  proof,  which  I 
complete  by  three  o'clock  at  least ;  after  that  I  have  to 
make  two  revisions,  —  one  at  the  press, — so  that  it  is  often 
seven  o'clock  before  all  is  finished.  I  have  then  an  even 
ing's  leisure.  This  has  been  my  employment  for  most 
of  six  months ;  and  I  am  now  done  with  it.  I  cannot, 
and  will  not  go  through  twenty  months  at  least  of  such 
incessant  labor ;  for  it  will  take  fully  that  time  to  finish. 
The  world  may  cry  out  what  they  choose ;  but  when  I 
wishes  a  new  find  myself  bound  by  Gordian  knots,  I  will  cut 
wS'th?16116  them.  Some  arrangement  must  be  made  to 
Dictionary.  lighten  my  task)  or  j  ghali  resign  it  entirely.  It 

is  not  necessary  that  I  should  do  all  this ;  but  my  assist- 
Dr.  Webster  ance,  or  that  of  some  one  as  competent,  is  abso- 
cographer.  lutely  necessary.  Perhaps  I  have  done  wrong 
in  stating  this  to  you,  but  I  rely  on  your  not  betraying 
me.  My  situation  is  therefore  one  of  disgust  and  toil. 
....  I  regret  that  I  have  ever  engaged  in  the  thing. 
He  longs  to  It  will  be  one  of  the  miseries  of  my  life  to  think 
SmTh'e  of  it ;  and  I  pray  that  I  may  find  a  safe  deliv 
erance.  As  I  find  it,  I  appear  to  be  obliged  to 
correct  the  blunders  of  ignorance.  I  feel  like  the  living 


fitaJ       SEVERE    NATURE    OF    HIS    TASKS.          287 

tied  to  the  dead  ;  but  even  the  Geography  is  far  better 
than  the  Dictionary,  as  a  task.  I  have  grasped  at  too 
much  employment  ;  but  I  am  in  some  measure  excusable, 
from  the  fact  that  the  work  has  doubled  on  my  hands, 
from  circumstances  I  could  not  foresee.  I  did  hope,  how 
ever,  to  force  myself  through  the  whole,  partly  that  it 
might  not  be  said  I  had  not  fulfilled  my  engagements, 
partly  to  gain  the  reward.  That  would  have  left  me 
enough  to  purchase  a  little  house  of  my  own,  of  which  I 
might  say,  with  Achilles,  — 

oKlyov  re  <£iXoj/  re 


or  with  Ariosto, 

Parva,  sed  apta  mihi  .... 

....  parta  meo  sed  tamen  sere  domus. 

But  I  will  give  up  that  for  the  present,  and  perhaps  there 
is  little  really  desirable  in  it.  I  shall  be  careful  hereafter 
not  to  engage  till  I  know  all  the  ground  before  me  ;  and 
not  to  engage  in  anything  that  will  not  leave  my  time 
mainly  to  myself.  I  am  content  to  be  poor,  but  I  will 
not  drudge  all  my  time  for  money.  I  have  not  been  unin 
fluenced  in  this  seeming  eagerness  for  it  by  a  regard  for 
another  than  myself.  I  have  been  deeply  touched  by 
the  misconduct  of  one  near  relation  towards  another  ;  but 
I  do  not  wish  to  particularize.  I  can  do  nothing,  however, 
but  regret  it.  If  I  get  clear  of  the  Dictionary,  I  shall 
not  fall  back  with  the  Geography  ;  if  I  do  not,  I  really 
fear  I  cannot  accomplish  it  ;  at  least  I  must  have  my  time 
to  do  it  in. 

Dr.  Hayward  wrote  in  reply:  "I  hope  you  will  not 
break  off  with  the  Dictionary  before  you  write  to  me  ; 


288  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIV. 

and  I  think  if  you  are  dealing  with  gentlemen,  the  task 
Dr.  Hay  ward  might  be  made  much  lighter  to  you.  At  the 
"or|on-him  same  time>  I  must  confess  that  I  should  be  very 
sorry  to  think  that  it  would  be  nearly  two  years 
before  you  could  visit  us  here."  He  continued  upon  the 
work,  but  was  relieved  of  some  of  the  more  onerous  duties, 
while  his  pay  remained  the  same.  His  reply  shows  a 
more  cheerful  spirit. 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  January  9, 1828. 

I  have  made  some  more  favorable  arrangement  with 
He  gains  re-  the  Dictionary,  by  which  I  am  relieved  from 
Ms^worV'no8  most  of  tne  mechanical  part  of  my  task,  and  I 
now  hope  to  respire  from  my  excessive  labors. 
I  need  it  in  body  and  spirit.  The  Dictionary  is  still  an 
odious  task  to  me 

I  will  now  detain  you  a  little  while  with  my  literary 
notions.  As  for  myself,  my  literary  talents  are  even  suf 
fering  in  dim  eclipse,  and  often  I  fear  there  will  be  no 
future  emersion.  I  will  not  conceal  from  you  that  I  lead 
a  very  solitary  and  cheerless  life,  with  no  other  companion 
but  my  toils.  Could  I  enjoy  the  society  of  my  books,  1 
think  I  might  be  better  satisfied,  —  sed  ineptias  aliorum 
Mr.  N.  P.  semper  corrigere  valde  durum  est.  You  have  a 
IherSAmeri-  new  star  in  your  horizon,  N.  P.  Willis,  Esq., 
can  authors.  an(j  j  presume  your  wise  men  of  the  East  have 
gone  to  worship  him.  I  think  him  very  clever  in  his 
way,  but  he  is  wholly  an  artificial  thing,  —  Wordsworth 
and  Mrs.  Hemans  lackadaisified,  just  as  I  observed  that 
L.  E.  L.  was  a  dilution  of  Tom  Moore;  and  yet  he 


^S.]       SEVERE    NATURE    OF    HIS    TASKS.          289 

writes  smoothly  and  prettily,  sometimes  even  beautifully ; 
and  yet  at  times,  oh  how  weak !  During  a  night  he  says, 
"  The  moonlight  is  not  heard."  "  God  help  thee,  silly 
one,"  as  Canning  said  to  Southey.  The  current  poetry 
of  the  time,  particularly  in  this  country,  is  full  of  such 
things.  Bryant,  H.  G.  Mellen,  Longfellow,  Jones,  Willis, 
R.  H.  Dana  (but  though  similar,  rather  different),  et  hoc 
genus  omne,  and  oh,  what  a  sameness !  but  one  hand,  vary 
ing  as  any  hand  might,  even  on  a  single  sheet.  Study, 
labor  limce,  exact  conformity  to  the  best  models,  but  yet 
how  lifeless  in  general.  I  may  have  written  so  at  times, 
but  not  always.  If  I  have,  it  is  one  of  my  remembered 
iniquities.  I  am  ready  to  ask  the  pardon  of  Apollo  for 
it,  on  the  very  knees  of  my  heart. 

One   spirit-stirring   thing   has   happened  since  I  last 
wrote  you,  —  the  battle  of  Navarino,  or  rather  the  news. 
I  heard  it  with  the  sincerest  joy.    I  hate  all  war,  A  prophecy 
but  that  was  the  retribution  of  strict  justice.  conflnned- 
Let  the  allies  go  on,  and  put  the  world  at  peace.     They 
have  the   power  and  can  do  it ;   and  then  intelligence 
will  work  up,  in  spite  of  them.     In  relation  to  that  affair, 
I  refer  you  to  my  Greece  from  Mount  Helicon.     It  was 
written  in  May,  1826.     It  now  seems  to  me  almost  like  a 
prophecy. 

The  late  George  P.  Morris  was  at  this  time  the  editor 
of  the  New  York  Mirror,  a  slender  literary  periodical. 
He  conceived  the  plan  of  publishing  in  a  single  number 
"  the  likenesses  of  nine  living  American  poets,"  with 
accompanying  biographical  details.  Percival  His  portrait 
was  included  in  the  number,  and  was  asked  to  asked  for> 
allow  his  portrait  to  be  engraved,  the  one  which  Alex 
ander  had  painted  in  1825,  while  he  was  residing  in  Bos- 
13  s 


290  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIV. 

ton,  and  to  furnish  memoranda  for  a  sketch  of  his  life. 
He  consented;  and  when  the  print  was  published,  his 
own  likeness  occupied  the  centre  of  the  group.  The 
tuneful  nine,  including  Percival,  were  Bryant,  Sprague, 
Pierpont,  Irving,  Woodworth,  Brooks,  Pinckney,  and 
Halleck.  These  were  then  our  most  promising  poets. 
Who  of  them,  save  Percival,  Bryant,  Halleck,  and  Irv 
ing,  are  known  as  American  authors  now  ?  Such  is  the 
caprice  of  reputation.  It  is  amusing  to  learn  from  Mr. 
Morris  concerning  Percival,  that  "  in  manners  he  resem 
bles  Addison,  in  disposition  the  eccentric  and  excellent 
Goldsmith,  and  in  mind  he  possesses  the  herculean  vigor 
of  Johnson  combined  with  the  tuneful  equability  of 
Pope." 

In  the  following  letter  he  compares  his  labors  upon 
the  Dictionary  with  the  Geography :  — 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  June  9, 1828. 

I  have  still  engagements  with  the  Dictionary.  When 
fully  employed  on  the  Dictionary,  I  receive  ninety-five 
The  work  on  dollars  per  month.  If  I  could  entirely  finish  a 

the  Diction-  _.  ,  ,   . 

ary  and  the  volume  in  a  month,  the  Geography  would  have 
compared,  some  advantage.  But  if  it  exceeds  a  month  by 
more  than  eleven  days,  then  the  advantage  is  on  the  side 
of  the  Dictionary,  so  far  as  mere  profit  is  concerned.  I 
have  yet  to  learn  that  I  can  complete  a  volume  in  a 
month,  even  laboring  as  I  did  on  the  Dictionary, —  an  ex 
periment  which  I  shall  hardly  be  willing  to  try  again.  I 
have  injured  my  health  by  what  I  have  done.  But  I 
have  never  compared  the  present  arrangement  for  the 


SEVERE  NATURE  OF  HIS  TASKS. 


291 


Geography  with  the  Dictionary  (I  do  not  wish  to  com 
pare  anything  with  the  Dictionary,  it  is  unique  in  all  its 
bearings),  but  only  with  the  former  arrangement;  and  I 
still  say,  I  consider  myself  as  speaking  within  reasonable 
limits,  when  I  assert  that  I  could  have  prepared  the  edi 
tion  according  to  the  first  arrangement  (doing  all  required 
faithfully)  in  one  third  the  time  now  required,  —  the  in 
crease  of  compensation  being  only  fifty  per  cent,  of  time 
three  hundred.  I  say  this  after  completing  four  volumes. 


CHAPTER    XV. 
1829-1831. 

THE  DICTIONARY  COMPLETED.  —  His  HOME  IN  BERLIN.  —  His  WILL. 

—  TROUBLE  WITH  A  PUBLISHER.  —  PROPOSALS  FROM  WASHINGTON. 

—  MALTE-BRUN  FINISHED. 

HE  engagement  upon  the  Dictionary  termi 
nated  in  the  early  autumn  of  this  year.  It 
had  been  to  him  a  severely  laborious  work ; 
and  though  he  separated  from  it  before  it  was 
His  work  on  entirely  finished,  owing  to  misunderstanding  be- 
ary  eided.  tween  himself  and  Dr.  Webster,  it  was  a  wel 
come  release. 

In  the  mean  time,  he  was  looking  about  for  a  home  in 
which  he  might  invest  his  earnings  from  the  Dictionary, 
to  which  he  might  take  his  mother,  and  where  his  broth 
ers  would  also  be  welcome.  The  place  he  had  selected 
He  buys  was  the  house  formerly  occupied  by  Dr.  Ward, 
home.  the  physician  in  whose  library  he  had  gained 
his  earliest  introduction  to  the  study  of  medicine.  It  was 
in  Kensington  parish;  and  he  removed  there  with  his 
library  in  September  or  October  of  this  same  year.  A 
little  earlier  than  this,  in  writing  to  his  mother  about  the 
proposed  change,  he  says  of  himself:  "  My  health  is  not 
strong.  I  can  do  much  if  I  take  it  moderately,  but  I  do 
not  intend  to  drive  myself  as  I  have  done  for  the  last  two 
years." 

His  only  occupation  in  the  new  home  was  the  Geogra 
phy  ;  and  this,  from  the  delay  in  issuing  the  numbers  in 


2SJ  HIS    WILL.  293 

England,  was  not  exacting.  His  property  now  was  mainly 
his  library,  to  which  he  had  recently  made  large  additions 
in  foreign  books  relating  to  the  study  of  language,  and  the 
house  which  he  had  paid  for  with  his  late  earnings.  He 
was  in  a  more  prosperous  condition  than  he  had  been  for 
years.  Though  his  income  had  partially  stopped  with  the 
release  from  his  engagement  on  the  Dictionary,  he  had 
money  before  him  ;  and  when  his  time  was  not  fully  taken 
up  with  labor,  he  employed  himself  in  sending  Writes  for  the 

*  &  Connecticut 

poetical  and  sometimes  prose  contributions  to  Journal, 
the  Connecticut  Journal,  then  under  the  charge  of  Lucius 
K.  Dow.      For  these  he  was  paid ;  and  many  of  them 
were  afterwards  published  in  his  last  poetical  volume,  the 
"  Dream  of  a  Day,  and  other  Poems,"  in  1843. 

A  document  before  me,  dated  Berlin,  Conn.,  April  7, 
1829,  contains  his  will.  At  his  decease,  if  his 
mother  survived  him,  she  was  to  have  "  the  sole 
use  and  benefit "  of  his  estate,  and  "  if  anything  should 
remain  after  her  death,  or  in  case  she  should  not  survive 
me,  then  I  give  and  bequeath  all  my  personal  property 
so  remaining  in  the  one  case,  and  all  without  reserve  in 
the  other,  to  the  Medical  Society  of  Connecticut,  to  be 
employed  in  paying  a  prize  or  prizes  for  the  best  disserta 
tion  or  dissertations  on  the  best  means  and  method  of  the 
physical  and  physico-moral  education  of  children,  from 
the  earliest  infancy,  so  as  to  form  the  soundest  constitu 
tion  and  the  best-regulated  habits ;  believing  that  an  en 
lightened  physician  should  be  the  best  judge  of  health 
and  morals,  and  that  no  other  inquiry  can  be  of  more 
vital  importance.  And  this  disposition  of  my  property  I 
make,  on  condition  that  my  executors,  Eli  Ives,  M.  D., 
and  George  Hayward,  M.  D.,  be  associated  as  judges  in 
the  distribution  of  said  prize  or  prizes.  It  is  my  will  and 


294  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XV. 

testament  that  no  other  disposition  of  my  personal  prop 
erty  be  made  whatever."  He  added  a  codicil,  that  his 
property,  in  case  it  should  be  found  sufficient,  should  also 
be  used  in  publishing  these  dissertations.  It  may  be  here 
said  that,  at  his  own  wish,  his  property  was  otherwise  dis 
posed  of  at  his  death ;  but  this  will  is  interesting,  as 
showing  his  thought  and  purpose  at  this  time. 

He  did  not  remain  long  in  Kensington.  In  April, 
1829,  he  was  making  inquiries  in  regard  to  an 
office  which  he  might  rent  in  New  Haven.  He 
finally  obtained  one  in  Broadway,  which  he  occupied  until 
Returns  to  he  became  engaged  in  the  Geological  Survey  of 
New  Haven.  Connecticut.  His  position  as  a  man  of  en 
larged  views  in  every  department  of  science  had  now 
gone  abroad,  and  his  opinions  were  often  sought  upon  a 
great  variety  of  subjects.  The  elder  Silliman  requested 
him  to  become  a  paid  contributor  to  the  Journal  of 
Science,*  then  in  its  infancy;  and  from  that  time,  few 
men,  eminent  in  any  branch  of  letters  or  science,  spent 
any  time  in  New  Haven  without  paying  their  respects  to 
Percival  and  Professor  Silliman. 

The  work  upon  the  Geography  was  still  going  on,  but 
At  work  on  Percival  was  greatly  annoyed  at  the  imperfect 
wphy°but  readings  of  the  proof-sheets.  As  the  successive 
annoyed.  numbers  came  out,  they  were  found  to  have 
many  typographical  errors,  and  nothing  was  to  him  more 
vexatious  than  these.  He  wrote  in  confidence  to  Dr. 
Hayward  that  it  was  as  he  "  had  anticipated."  And 
then  again  he  was  dissatisfied  with  his  pay.  It  was  not 
enough.  He  said :  "  My  compensation  for  the  whole 
work  ought  to  be  sixteen  hundred  dollars,  and  unless  that 
is  secured  to  me  I  cannot  go  on."  At  this  crisis  Dr. 
*  Appendix  E. 


TROUBLE    WITH    A    PUBLISHER.  295 

Hayward,  finding  it  difficult  to  be  the  poet's  literary 
manager,  placed  the  matter  directly  and  entirely  in  Mr. 
Walker's  hands  ;  and  he,  surprised  at  the  seeming  vacil 
lation  of  his  editor,  wrote  him  a  sharp  letter,  in  which  he 
intimated  that  he  was  legally  bound  to  complete  the  work, 
and  that  unless  he  did  so,  he  should  resort  to  the  law  to 
compel  him  to.  Mr.  Walker  could  not  understand  Perci- 
val's  difficulties  in  the  correction  of  Malte-Brun,  his  care 
that  every  part  of  the  work  should  be  authentic  and  com 
plete  ;  and  he  was  perhaps  specially  annoyed  that  Percival 
should  always  transact  all  business  with  him  through  his 
friend  Dr.  Hayward.  He  was  in  a  hurry  to  have  the 
task  completed  ;  and  Percival  was  the  last  man  to  be 
hurried.  At  the  close  of  his  letter,  Mr.  Walker  said: 
"  If  you  should  cease  to  be  the  editor,  before  the  Geog 
raphy  is  finished,  the  public  will  have  due  notice  thereof." 
This  cut  Percival  to  the  quick,  and  he  immediately  sat 
down  and  wrote  the  following  letter,  in  which  the  facts 
are  stated  from  his  point  of  view :  — 


TO  GEOEGE  HAYWARD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  August  27,  1829. 
DEAR  SIR, — 

I  received  a  letter  from  S.  Walker  this  morning,  in 
forming  me  that  you   had  delivered   him  the  Trouble  be- 
letter  I  lately  wrote  you,  and  that  you  had  de-  andeMr"m 
clined  answering  it.     I  cannot  reply  to  his  let-  Walker- 
ter,  and  I  cannot  but  express  my  surprise  and  regret  that 
you  should  have  taken  the  course  you  have  done.     But 
after  what  has  passed,  I  cannot  expect  any  attention  to 
any  fair  claims  on  my  part,  or  that  any  fair  construction 


296  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CETAP.  XV. 

will  be  put  upon  the  course  I  have  taken  in  my  private 
correspondence  with  you,  or  on  the  real  value  of  my  ser 
vices.  Under  such  circumstances,  I  am  entirely  willing 
to  retire  from  the  work,  nor  do  I  fear  from  the  judgments 
of  disinterested  persons  who  know  all  the  circumstances. 
I  stand  ready  to  deliver  to  Walker  all  the  materials  I 
have  on  hand  immediately.  I  have  done  something  on  the 
sixth  volume ;  but  rather  than  go  on,  under  such  circum 
stances,  I  would  choose  to  lose  all  the  labor  I  have  given 
to  it.  I  cannot  excuse  myself  for  having  shown  want  of 
respect.  I  have  intended  none  to  you,  but  I  have  found 
it  necessary  to  speak  plainly  and  decisively.  I  again  say, 
I  need  at  least  two  months  to  prepare  a  volume  as  it 
should  be  prepared.  The  sum  I  have  just  fixed  is  but  a 
trifle  more  compensation  than  what  was  secured  to  me 
several  months  before  the  work  began,  and  before  the  diffi 
culties  of  it  were  at  all  understood  or  even  suspected,  for 
simply  reading  the  proofs  of  the  Dictionary  and  seeing 
that  the  manuscript  was  correctly  printed.  It  was  hard 
for  me  to  give  my  time  after  this  to  a  much  more  difficult 
and  responsible  task  for  a  less  compensation,  and  fixing 
the  sum  which  I  did.  I  merely  calculated  the  time  which 
I  knew  was  necessary  for  me,  and  regulated  the  compen 
sation  by  that  of  a  proof-reader,  allowing  a  little  for  in 
creased  responsibility  and  contingencies  ;  for  parts  of  the 
Geography  which  cannot  be  foreseen  are  more  difficult 
than  others,  and  require  a  longer  time,  so  that  two  months 
is  at  least  a  minimum  allowance  for  time.  I  again  give 
my  calculation:  nine  volumes,  at  two  months  per  volume, 
is  eighteen  months ;  at  $  80  per  month,  the  sum  secured 
me  for  proof-reading  is  $  1,440,  or  $  160  per  volume,  allow 
ing  for  responsibility  and  all.  I  put  it  at  $  180 ;  and  this 
I  think  a  fair  compensation,  and  one  corresponding  to  the 


Ji?$J         TROUBLE    WITH    A    PUBLISHER.  297 

sums  allowed  other  literary  men  in  similar  undertakings. 
I  said  such  a  one  had  been  offered  me.  I  was  offered 
the  abridgment  of  Webster's  Dictionary,  and  for  this  I 
should  have  been  paid  $  1,500;  but  I  could  not  at  that 
time  engage,  on  account  of  this  engagement.  It  was  of 
fered  me  winter  before  last,  when  I  had  prepared  only 
three  volumes  of  the  Geography.  That  sum  has  been 
paid  for  it ;  and  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying,  it  would 
have  been  an  easier  task  than  the  Geography.  Were 
this  sum  of  $1,600  secured  to  me,  I  would  have  corrected 
the  proofs ;  indeed,  this  ought  to  have  been  a  part  of  the 
original  engagement,  for  it  is  hardly  possible  that  a  book 
would  be  correctly  printed  from  manuscript,  without  the 
author's  corrections  or  those  of  one  as  competent ;  and  I 
can  say,  without  hesitation,  from  the  nature  of  the  errors 
in  the  copy  as  now  printed,  that  such  correction  was  not 
employed  in  this  case.  I  need  not  tell  you  in  what  a  very 
disagreeable  light  I  must  be  placed  before  the  public, 
with  my  name  sanctioning  such  errors  as  I  have  found 
in  the  copy,  after  what  I  had  professed  to  undertake  in 
my  advertisement,  and  after  the  great  pains  I  know  I  had 
given  to  make  the  work  correct.  But  I  could  not  sacri 
fice  so  much  of  my  time  as  the  correction  would  have 
required  for  nothing,  especially  when  I  felt  myself  over 
burdened  by  the  task  I  had  already  on  hand.  I  am  very 
sorry  to  see  the  course  you  have  taken  in  this  case.  That 
you  should  have  delivered  over  to  Walker  my  private, 
confidential  correspondence,  and  pointed  out  the  passages 
most  favorable  to  him,  without  reference  to  those  of  a 
contrary  character,  which  are  necessary  to  a  full  under 
standing  of  the  case  (one  of  difficult  compromise),  I  cannot 
explain.  Indeed,  my  letters  could  not  be  fully  understood 
without  a  knowledge  of  our  confidential  verbal  intercourse 
13* 


298  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XV. 

on  the  subject.  I  need  not  tell  you  again  how  much  I  was 
influenced  at  first  by  a  particular  circumstance  I  have  de 
tailed  to  you.  That  you  should  have  taken  advantage 
of  a  most  painful  misfortune  to  me,  which  might  have 
induced  me  to  engage  even  when  I  knew  it  was  not  for 
what  I  was  justly  entitled,  and  when  I  so  declared  it, — 
that  you  should  have  taken  advantage  of  this  to  press 
me  to  the  grindstone,  especially  when  I  have  so  re 
peatedly  declared  since  that  I  have  been  disappointed  in 
my  expectations,  and  that  the  work  has  proved  much  more 
difficult  than  I  had  anticipated  from  the  first  volume,  I 
must  say  is  very  disagreeable  to  me.  I  had  applied  and 
reapplied  so  long  that  my  patience  was  exhausted.  I 
say  now  that,  if  the  terms  I  have  here  proposed  are 
fairly  considered  and  allowed,  I  am  ready  to  go  on  with 
as  little  interruption  as  circumstances  will  allow,  but  if 
not,  taking  all  the  circumstances  into  account,  I  stand 
ready  to  resign  at  once,  and  meet  the  consequences.  I 
know  they  will  be  disagreeable  ;  perhaps  an  appeal  to 
the  public  will  be  necessary ;  at  any  rate,  I  must  exoner 
ate  myself  from  the  errors  of  the  work  as  printed.  The 
work,  as  it  now  is,  has  been  a  burden  to  me  rather  than 
an  advantage.  Other  things  I  might  say,  if  I  thought 
they  would  be  fairly  construed  ;  but  after  what  has  passed, 
I  cannot  hope  it.  If  you  refuse  to  answer  this,  I  shall 
consider  the  business  on  my  part  as  ended,  and  will  return 
the  materials  by  the  first  opportunity. 
Yours  respectfully, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 
GEORGE  HAYWARD,  M.  D. 

The  effect  of  these  letters  was  to  bring  both  parties  to 
a  better  understanding ;  and  by  the  kind  management  of 


TROUBLE    WITH    A    PUBLISHER.  299 

Dr.  Hayward,  who  knew  well  PercivaPs  incapacity  for 
business,  Mr.  Walker  was  made  to  see  the  dif-  Dr.  Hayward 
ficulty  in  the  way  of  peace ;  and  to  the  credit  make  peace, 
of  both,  it  should  be  said,  that  Percival's  friendship  with 
Dr.  Hayward  was  not  broken,  and  that  Mr.  Walker  ever 
after  treated  him  in  all  his  letters  with  marked  kindness 
and  respect.  Dr.  Hayward,  in  urging  Percival  to  confi 
dence  in  Mr.  Walker,  says :  "  It  really  seems  to  me  that 
he  is  willing  to  do  everything  that  you  can  ask  or  wish. 
And  when  you  consider  that  it  is  really  more  for  his  inter 
est  than  yours  that  you  should  complete  the  work,  I  con 
fess  that  I  am  surprised  that  you  should  have  any  suspi 
cion  or  uneasiness  about  it."  In  Percival's  reply,  he 
said :  "  I  should  regret  it  very  much  if  you  supposed  me 
distrustful  of  your  readiness  to  favor  me  in  my  affairs 
relating  to  the  Geography.  On  the  contrary,  I  am  very 
sensible  of  it,  and  only  regret  there  should  be  any  neces 
sity  on  my  part  to  cause  you  the  trouble  you  have  taken 
on  my  account ;  the  more  so,  as  I  know  not  that  I  shall 
have  it  in  my  power  to  give  you  a  like  return." 

In  the  delay  caused  by  the  tardy  appearance  of  the 
Geography  in  England,  he  lacked  employment ;  and  none 
being  offered  to  him,  he  wrote  a  letter  of  inquiry  to 
Professor  Ticknor,  in  reply  to  which  he  received  the 
following :  — 


TO  JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

BOSTON,  July  6,  1830. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

I  received,  three  weeks  since,  a  letter  from  you,  asking 
if  I  could  suggest  some  profitable  literary  occu-  Letter  from 
pation ;  and  I  have  since  made  inquiry  to  ascer-  Mr-  Ticknor- 


300  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XV. 

tain  here  whether  any  such  is  now  offered.  Thus  far,  I 
am  sorry  to  say,  I  have  been  entirely  unsuccessful ;  but  I 
do  not  despair,  because  I  know  such  things  are  often  un 
expectedly  presented.  In  the  mean  time,  however,  I 
write  to  you  to  say  that  my  friend  Mr.  Walsh  (R.  Walsh, 
Jr.)  of  Philadelphia  was  lately  writing  me,  and  I  sug 
gested  to  him  what  you  might  desire.  He  thought  he 
could  assist  you ;  and  you  may  think  it  worth  while  to 
write  to  him  on  the  subject,  and  from  him  learn  what  can 
be  looked  for  in  Philadelphia  that  would  suit  you. 
Yours  very  sincerely, 

GEO.  TICKNOE. 

Percival  immediately  wrote  to  Mr.  Walsh,  who  desired 

him  to  write  for  his  Review,  the  American  Quarterly ;  he 

isso       a^so  endeavored  to  find  him  employment  among 

the  booksellers  in  Philadelphia;  but  I  cannot 

find  that  he  wrote  for  the  Review.     Reviewing  was  not 

congenial  to  him,  and  the  booksellers  had  nothing  to  offer. 

At  the  invitation  of  his  old  friend  Jeremy  L.  Cross, 
Papers  on  he  now  contributed  a  series  of  papers  on  Natural 
History.  History,  one  of  his  earliest  and  favorite  studies, 
to  the  Sabbath  School  Herald,*  then  published  in  New 
Haven.  They  were  gracefully  written,  and  if  not  fully 
adapted  to  children,  were  yet  a  very  agreeable  introduc 
tion  to  the  study  of  Natural  History  "  in  its  intellectual, 
moral,  and  religious  bearings,"  for  mature  minds.  He 
also  edited  an  English  publication,  "  The  Wonders  of  the 
World,"  for  Sidney  Bab.cock,  a  bookseller  in  New  Haven, 
and  the  publisher  of  his  Clio  No.  I.,  for  which  he  received 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars. 

While  still  waiting,  with  the  unfinished  Geography 
*  Appendix  F. 


*xk]       PROPOSALS    FROM    WASHINGTON.         301 

upon  his  hands,  for  literary  employment,  he  received  a 
letter  from  General  Duff  Green,  of  Washington,      iggL 
the  contents  of  which  he  communicated  to  Pro 
fessor  Ticknor,  asking  his  advice :  — 


TO  GEORGE  TICKNOR. 

NEW  HAVEN,  May  9,  1831. 

DEAR  SIR,— 

I  have  just  had  a  proposition  made  to  me,  which  in  my 
present  situation  requires  some  consideration  on  my  part, 
and  on  which  I  feel  particularly  desirous  to  ob-  proposals 
tain  your  opinion.  General  Duff  Green,  of  the  erai  Duff 
Washington  Telegraph,  has  proposed  to  me  to  Gl 
connect  myself  editorially  with  him  at  Washington.  He 
has  proposed  to  establish  a  periodical,  "  The  United 
States  Army  and  Navy  Journal,"  on  the  plan  of  the 
United  Service  Journal  in  England,  of  which  he  has  re 
quested  me  to  become  the  editor.  He  says  he  has  already 
obtained  quite  a  large  number  of  subscribers.  He  would 
also  be  glad  of  my  assistance  in  the  literary  and  miscel 
laneous  departments  of  the  Telegraph.  Such  is  the  lan 
guage  he  has  used  to  me  in  his  propositions.  He  has  re 
quested  me  to  inform  him  in  two  or  three  weeks  whether 
I  will  accede  to  them,  and  on  what  terms.  These  are 
offers  somewhat  calculated  to  excite  the  spirit  of  adven 
ture  ;  yet  I  can  truly  say  that  I  should  at  once  decline 
them,  if  I  could  feel  assured  of  a  regular  continuance  of 
such  literary  employments  as  I  have  been  engaged  in. 
These  employments  have  been  and  are  now  very  uncer 
tain  to  me.  I  have  some  years  realized  a  suffi- 

His  poverty. 

cient  sum  from  them,  but  the  last  two  years 


302  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XV. 

have  been  very  barren.  The  last  year  my  income  from 
literary  employment  has  been  only  sixty-five  dollars,  and 
I  have  been  all  the  time  in  search  of  new  employment 
without  success.  I  have  now  no  prospect  of  such  em 
ployments  on  which  I  can  calculate.  The  employments 
on  which  I  have  been  last  engaged  have  been  difficult 
and  laborious,  but  concealed.  That  with  the  Dictionary 
gave  me  no  opportunity  of  exhibiting  myself  to  advan 
tage.  The  good  I  did,  whether  positive  or  negative  in 
preventing  evil,  all  went  to  another's  advantage,  but  was 
lost  to  me.  The  Geography  is  of  a  similar  character. 
No  one  can  form  a  conception  of  the  most  difficult  part 
of  my  task,  without  closely  comparing  my  edition  with 
the  English  edition  and  the  original,  —  a  labor  which  prob 
ably  not  one  of  my  readers  will  undertake.  The  pub 
lisher,  also,  is  an  improper  person.  He  circulates  his 
work  principally  by  agents,  in  ninepenny  numbers,  among 
the  less  intelligent  classes  (not  a  single  copy  have  I  seen 
in  bookstores,  and  only  a  single  copy  in  the  hands  of 
subscribers,  and  that  not  till  last  Saturday).  Several  of 
the  earlier  numbers  (about  four  to  eleven  inclusive)  were 
printed  without  my  correcting  the  proofs  (no  fault  of 
mine),  and  of  course  very  inaccurately.  When  I  discov 
ered  this,  I  insisted  on  forming  a  table  of  errata  to  be 
circulated  by  the  first  number  issued  after  it  was  prepared. 
This  the  publisher  consented  to  do.  I  prepared  the  table 
(an  extensive  one),  saw  it  printed,  and  corrected  the 
proofs ;  but  in  the  only  copy  I  have  since  seen,  it  has  not 
yet  made  its  appearance.  I  have  (perhaps  erroneously) 
partly  attributed  to  these  circumstances  my  want  of  suc 
cess  in  procuring  other  literary  employment.  At  any 
rate,  I  am  now  in  a  situation  in  which  some  change  is 
necessary.  I  do  not  wish  to  change  my  residence  or  pur- 


PROPOSALS  FROM  WASHINGTON.    303 

suits.     I  altogether  prefer  an  independent  literary  employ 
ment  as  author  or  editor  (not  of  periodicals,  but  wishes  em- 

T  •  P  ployinent  as 

or  new  editions  or  books)  to  any  such  employ-  editor  of  new 
ment  as  this  just  proposed  at  Washington.  I  do  books. 
not  of  choice  feel  inclined  to  a  residence  in  Washington. 
I  have  not  been  accustomed  to  regard  General  Green  or 
his  party  with  much  complacency,  although  his  recent 
change  of  position  is  rather  more  in  his  favor  in  my 
views.  I  have  very  imperfect  notions  of  the  security  of 
a  connection  with  him,  or  of  the  amount  of  compensation 
which  one  should  require  for  such  an  engagement.  At  a 
time  when  my  literary  prospects  are  altogether  in  abey 
ance,  this  proposition  (not  altogether  without  promise)  is 
made  me.  I  have  stated  several  circumstances  connected 
with  rny  situation  and  feelings,  which  may  have  some  in 
fluence  in  deciding  the  question.  Still  I  should  peculiarly 
value  your  opinion  as  to  the  course  I  ought  to  pursue, 
and  should  be  much  obliged  if  you  would  give  it  me  as 
soon  as  you  can  conveniently. 

Yours  with  much  respect, 

JAMES  G.  PEHCIVAL. 
GEORGE  TICKNOR. 

Professor  Ticknor  replied  as  follows :  — 


TO  JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

BOSTON,  May  11,  1831. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

Yours  of  the  9th  came  last  evening  ;  and  I  have  care 
fully   considered   its   contents.     Of  Mr.    Duff  Letter  from 
Green  I  know  nothing ;    and  of  his   political  Ticknor. 
course  I  think  just  as  you  do.     Yet,  if  his  offers  are  lib- 


304  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XV. 

eral,  and  you  are  satisfied  that  they  may  be  depended 
upon,  I  do  not  see  why  you  should  not  accept  them, 
saving  only  your  disinclination  to  the  sort  of  labor  he 
proposes  and  the  place  where  it  is  to  be  done ;  of  which 
you  must  be  the  sole  judge.  But  I  should  expect  a  good 
deal  of  liberality  in  his  propositions,  and  perfect  explicit- 
ness,  in  writing,  as  to  their  meaning  and  construction. 
With  this  and  frequent  pecuniary  adjustments  with  him, 
you  would  be  safe  enough,  I  should  think,  even  if  his 
speculations  in  politics,  newspapers,  and  books  should  not 
turn  out  successfully.  I  should,  however,  expect  a  good 
living  out  of  my  engagements  with  him. 

I  do  not  know  that  I  can  add  anything  more,  except 
my  hearty  wishes  for  your  success,  and  a  sincere  desire 
to  contribute  to  it. 

Very  truly  your  friend  and  servant, 

GEO.  TICKNOR. 

It  was  now  proposed  to  him  by  some  Boston  publishers 
June  1831.  to  prepare  a  popular  Geography,  which  should 
Urged  to  pre-  cost,  including  maps  and  engravings,  five  or  six 
iT/GeoKra""  dollars  a  volume;  and  he  wrote  to  Dr.  Hay  ward, 
phy>  inquiring  the  character  and  means  of  the  par 

ties  proposing  to  engage  in  it :  — 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWAKD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  June  30,  1831. 

A  proposition  has  been  recently  made  me  to  engage  in 
Which  the     a  literary  undertaking,  which  I  think  may  be  of 

Brothers  are  V6I7  considerable  importance  to  me,  by  C.  S.  D. 
to  publish.     Gri'ffin  and  B  T  Griffin  of  Boston>     As  j  am 

entirely  unacquainted  with  them,  and  as  it  is  important 


MALTE-BRUN    FINISHED.  305 

to  me  in  this  affair  that  they  should  be  honorable  and 
responsible  men,  —  men  whose  stability  and  integrity  may 
be  permanently  relied  on,  —  you  will  much  oblige  me  by 
communicating  to  me  soon  whatever  you  may  know  or 
learn  of  them  in  that  respect.  My  impression  is,  that  if 
they  are  such  men  as  I  can  safely  deal  with,  a  fair  field 
may  be  opened  to  me  in  the  proposed  undertaking.  It 
will  require  considerable  time  to  prepare  the  work  pro 
posed  ;  and  it  is  then  intended  to  be  one  in  which  I  may 
have  a  permanent  interest,  and  in  which  my  profits  will 
depend  on  its  success.  In  such  an  undertaking  I,  of 
course,  wish  to  proceed  with  the  greatest  caution.  My 
reliance  on  your  caution  and  good  wishes  induces  me  to 
make  this  application. 

It  was  found  that  the  publishers  were  young  men,  but 
trustworthy ;    yet  for  some  reason  unexplained  The  work 
the  proposition  was  not  followed  up.  given  up< 

The  welcome  news  came  to  him,  now,  that  the  ninth 
and  last  volume  of  Malte-Brun  was  being  published  in 
England.  In  publishing  the  nineteenth  part  of  the  work, 
he  issued  the  following  advertisement :  — 

I  take  this  occasion  to  inform  the  public  that  the  prin 
cipal  delay  in  the  progress  of  this  edition  has  Maite-Brun 
arisen  from  the  London  publishers,  nearly  a  comi)lcted- 
year  having  elapsed  between  my  receiving  the  first  and 
second  numbers  of  volume  eighth.     The  public  may  be 
assured  that  no  delay  has  been  or  will  be  caused  by  me, 
beyond  what  is  necessary  in  preparing  the  edition.     The 
manner  in  which  the  revision  has  been  made  by  me  will 
doubtless  sufficiently  explain  the  delay  which  has  been 
thus  occasioned. 

J.  G.  PERCIVAL. 


306 


JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XV. 


The  Geography  had  been  on  his  hands,  at  this  time, 
about  five  years ;  a  loss  to  both  publisher  and  editor  in 
the  protracted  time  required  for  its  completion.  As  soon 
as  the  English  copy  could  be  imported,  it  was  placed  in 
PercivaPs  hands,  and  he  speedily  completed  its  revision. 
Mr.  Walker  But  the  work,  unfortunate  in  the  delay  in  its 
bankrupt.  pubiication)  helped  to  involve  Mr.  Walker  in 
bankruptcy,  and  consequently  to  deprive  Percival  of  the 
earnings,  on  which,  at  this  needy  time,  he  placed  so  much 
dependence. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

1831-1834. 

STUDIES  IN  LANGUAGE.  —  A  POETICAL,  SUMMONS  AND  HIS  REPLY.  — 
ATTEMPTS  A  NEW  EDITION  OF  HIS  POETRY.  —  LETTERS  TO  PRO 
FESSOR  TICKNOR.  —  His  POVERTY.  —  IN  SEARCH  OF  LITERARY 
EMPLOYMENT.  —  GOES  TO  BOSTON.  —  FAILURE  TO  PUBLISH  HIS 
POEMS.  —  ENGAGES  TO  WRITE  THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED 
STATES.  —  His  GERMAN  VERSES.  —  CONFESSIONS  OF  A  LINGUIST. 
—  THE  BASQUE. 

numerous  ways,  through  the  friends  of 
former  years,  he  now  tried  to  find  employ 
ment  ;  but  nothing  offered  itself.  In  this  en 
forced  leisure  he  turned  to  his  favorite  studies, 
the  languages,  and  found  relief  to  his  mind,  in  Hig  stlldies 
his  poverty-stricken  condition,  in  exploring  the  m  lansuase- 
intricacies  of  philology. 

"  He  was  one  of  the  first  in  our  country  to  revel  in  that 
latest  and  only  scientific  mode  of  studying  languages, 
which  has  received  the  name  of  linguistic  science.  Bopp, 
Grimm,  and  others  of  the  profound  Germans  were  im 
ported  by  him,  and  had  long  been  his  familiar  companions, 
before  either  their  names  or  their  discoveries  had  been 
heard  of  by  most  of  our  ablest  professors  of  language. 
Arid  linguistic  science  became  to  him  the  key  to  infinitely 
more  than  a  dry  and  barren  knowledge  of  words.  It  not 
only  classified  the  wondrously  varied  tribes  of  men, 
according  to  their  mutual  relations  of  descent  and  con- 


308  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XVI. 

sariguinity,  but  it  became  the  foundation  of  that  philos 
ophy  which  unlocked  for  him,  as  a  student  of  mankind, 
the  inmost  recesses  of  the  human  heart.  As  a  scholar 
he  could  thus  appreciate  the  degree  of  culture  of  various 
nations,  as  shown  in  their  literature,  and  as  a  poet  could 
enter  into  a  warm  and  intimate  sympathy  with  them  as 
brethren  of  the  human  family. 

"  He  excelled  especially  in  the  study  of  the  European 
Excels  in  the  languages.     Into  this  study  he  was  led  by  his 

European  J  J 

languages,  poetic  impulses ;  the  interest  with  which  he  re 
garded  the  early  efforts  in  literature  of  the  less  advanced 
peoples  being  derived  from  other  causes  than  their  intrin 
sic  merit.  In  addition  to  the  French,  Italian,  and  Span 
ish  of  his  earlier  years,  he  delighted  in  constantly  adding 
to  his  stores  of  German,  ancient  as  well  as  modern,  ex 
pressing  in  it  his  choicest  thoughts  and  feelings.  Not 
content  with  gratifying  his  romantic  tastes  through  the 
study  of  the  Gaelic  and  Welsh,  and  his  curiosity  and 
sympathy  with  the  stern  and  heroic  by  mastering  the 
Norse,  Danish,  and  Swedish,  he  was  indefatigable  in  his 
devotion  to  the  Slavonic  tongues,  with  the  poetry  of 
which,  more  particularly,  he  was  unwearied  in  making 
himself  familiar.  The  more  uncouth  the  appearance 
and  the.  sound,  the  greater  was  his  zest  in  overcoming 
the  sense  of  strangeness  by  the  most  minute  linguistic 
study,  and  by  persevering  till  he  felt  at  ease,  and,  as  it 
were,  among  friends  with  whom  he  could  sympathize. 
The  Russians  were  found  to  be  unexpectedly  interesting, 
from  the  tenderness  of  sentiment  among  their  peasantry ; 
the  vigor  and  spirit  of  the  Polish  did  not  disappoint  him ; 
the  Hungarian  Magyars  were  peculiar  as  well  as  wild ; 
and  in  the  Servians  he  took  extreme  delight.  As  a  lin 
guistic  student,  it  was  a  matter  of  course  that  he  should 


POETICAL    SUMMONS    AND    REPLY.         309 

labor  at  the  Sanscrit.  It  is  known  that  he  once  made,  by 
request,  to  a  Society  [the  Connecticut  Academy  of  Arts] 
an  elaborate  report  on  the  grammar  of  the  Basque ;  but 
it  is  not  known  that  he  also  examined  many  other  lan 
guages  which  he  did  not  read."  * 

There  was  not,  indeed,  a  language  or  a  dialect  (save 
the  Turkish)  of  modern  Europe  with  which  he  A  universal 
was  unacquainted ;  and  in  the  modern  languages  scholan 
of  India  he  had  made  extensive  studies. 

While  engaged  in  these  all-absorbing  pursuits,  the  pas 
sion  for  poetry  coined  out  of  his  own  teeming  Loses  his 

*  °  ambition  in 

imagination  was  repressed.  His  practical  oc-  poetry, 
cupations  where  chilling  to  poetic  enthusiasm,  and  his 
pen  had  become  almost  unused  to  numbers.  A  disap 
pointed  career  had  eaten  in  upon  the  genial,  creative 
activity  of  his  mind.  Yet  there  were  those  who  longed 
to  see  Percival  claiming  his  station  as  one  of  the  first 
American  poets.  In  the  New  York  Courier, 

Summons. 

some  time  before,  there  had  appeared  the  fol 
lowing  :  — 


"LINES   ADDRESSED   TO  PERCIVAL  THE  POET. 

"  Leave  thy  dull  corner  and  thy  fagot-fire, 
A  fellow-poet  calls  thee  to  aspire : 
Renounce  thy  narrow  hearth  and  chamber  small, 
And  mount  aloft  to  the  amaze  of  all. 
Like  a  bright  eagle,  stretch  thy  flight  in  air, 
And  wake  thy  country's  feelings  from  despair; 
Shake  off  thy  sorrow  and  replume  thy  wing, 
And  only  sing  as  thou  wert  wont  to  sing. 

"  BOSTONIENSIS." 

*  Poems,  Vol.  I.  pp.  xxxvi.-xxxviii. 


310  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XVI. 

To  this  he  replied  in  the   Boston  Literary  Gazette 
in  a  "  Sonnet,  —  To  C.  B.  of  the  New  York 


His  reply. 

Courier. 


"  Call  once  again  upon  the  thrice-crowned  bard, 

Now  that  thy  harp  is  taken  from  the  tree ; 
And  dead  to  pride,  his  feelings  trebly  hard, 
If  not  aroused  by  such  a  call  from  thee ; 
For  who  would  lie  in  dull,  oblivious  sleep, 

Betray  to  gold  the  Muse's  pen  divine, 
When  he  might  make  the  world  to  laugh  or  weep, 

By  dal'ying  fondly  with  the  sisters  nine? 
But  wake  thee,  wake  thee,  child  of  genius,  wake ! 

Nor  longer  dream  thy  native  land  so  poor ! 
Let  recreant  NEALE  his  country's  fame  forsake, 

His  pen  can  ne'er  enlighten  or  obscure, 
While  CLIO  *  sings,  or  HILLHOUSE  deigns  to  write, 
Or  BRYANT,  more  sublime,  walks  forth  in  beauty's  light. 


Early  in  the  present  year  the  following  came  out  in 

the  New  England  Weekly  Review,  the  poet 

Whittier's   paper,  when  Whitder   was   hardly 

yet  known  as  a  poet.     It  was  written  by  the  late  W. 

Sonnet  by      B.  O.  Peabody,  and  delicately  refers   to  the 

Dr.  Peabody.  iea(jing  characteristics  of  Percival's  poetry. 

"SONNET  TO  PEKCIVAX. 

"  Son  of  the  Muses !  hast  thou  thrown  thy  lyre, 

Like  a  forgotten  gift,  upon  the  deep 

Of  dark  oblivion  ?  —  Shall  its  echoes  sweep 
On  every  wind  no  more?  —  no  more  inspire 
A  flame  in  every  breast  ?  —  a  soul  of  fire ! 

It  was  a  soother  once  of  sorrow's  thorn, 
And  shall  the  midday  of  thy  manlier  years 

Belie  the  promise  of  Life's  early  morn? 

*  Percival. 


NEW    EDITION    OF    HIS    POEMS.  311 

Thy  joy  was  then  where  Fame's  proud  altar  rears, 
Thy  home  was  in  thy  own  sweet  Clio's  bowers, 
Thine  was  the  Muse's  mount,  the  Muse's  spring, 
The  garland,  woven  of  the  wild-wood  flowers, 
The  thrilling  song,  which  none  but  thee  might  sing; 
These  all  were  doubly  thine,  —  and  wilt  thou  fling 
Such  gifts  on  care's  dull  shrine?  —  No!  wake  once  more, 
And  eagle-like,  to  thine  own  eyrie  soar ! 

"  ALP." 


Perhaps  it  was  this  poetic  summons,  together  with  his 
own  urgent  want  of  means,  which  led  him  to  Attempts  a 
think  of  a  new  edition  of  his  poems.     In  the  ™ \^1** 
autumn  of  the  present  year   he  sent  this  pro-  P°ems- 
spectus  very  generally  to  his  friends  in  all  parts  of  the 
country,  —  to  Richmond,   Washington,   Baltimore,  New 
York,  Boston,  and  many  other  places :  — 

The  subscriber  proposes  to  publish,  by  subscription,  an 
edition  of  his  poems,  including  a  selection  from  those  al 
ready  published,  and  also  several  unpublished  pieces  ;  to 
be  comprised  in  two  volumes  12mo  of  three  hundred 
and  fifty  pages  each,  in  the  style  of  Pickering's  Aldine 
Edition  of  the  British  Poets,  at  one  dollar  per  vol 
ume. 

It  is  requested  that  the  papers  be  returned  to  the  sub 
scriber  at  New  Haven  by  the  1st  of  April,  1832. 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

It  met  with  a  response,  but  not  so  hearty  or  encour 
aging  as  he  had  anticipated,  and  he  therefore  gave  it  up. 
It  was  the  last  attempt,  during  his  lifetime,  at  a  collective 
or  select  edition. 

In  the  letters  which  are  now  in  order,  the  stories  of 
his  poverty  and  his  studies  are  closely  blended.  They  are 


312  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XVI. 

addressed  to  Professor  Ticknor,  to  whom,  in  matters 
Professor  Pertammg  to  general  literature,  he  felt  more  free 
Ticknor.  to  express  his  opinions  than  to  any  one  else ; 
and  of  him  it  may  be  justly  said,  that,  like  Dr.  Hayward, 
he  gave  Percival  that  mental  encouragement  which  was 
precious  to  him  beyond  expression.  He  gave  also  his 
sympathy  and  his  ready  help. 


TO  GEORGE  TICKNOR. 

NEW  HAVEN,  May  16,  1832. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

A  few  weeks  since  I  received  a  subscription  paper  with 
four  names,  including  yours,  the  only  one  I  have  received 
from  Boston.  This  attempt  at  an  edition  has  entirely 
failed.  It  was  an  experiment  which  I  do  not  regret  to 
have  tried,  but  which  I  now  quite  as  little  regret  has 
failed.  I  had  much  rather  it  should  have  failed  en- 
Gives  up  tirely  as  it  has,  than  have  partially  succeeded. 
Henceforth  the  publication  of  poetry  will  be  a 
matter  of  no  concern  with  me. 

I  have  sent  you  for  some  weeks  past  papers  from  one 
His  metrical  °f  the  offices  in  New  Haven,  in  which  are  spe- 
transiations.  cjmens  of  metriCal  translation.  My  object  in 
publishing  these  pieces  was,  by  giving  rhythmical  ver 
sions  as  nearly  literal  as  possible,  to  present  something 
entirely  different  from  the  current  poetry  (verse)  of  the 
day.  I  did  not  expect  that  they  would  excite  any  atten 
tion.  Some  few,  however,  may  perceive  their  purport. 
I  would  just  call  your  attention  to  the  strong  Saxonism 
and  Normanism,  if  I  may  so  say,  of  these  pieces.  Far 
the  greater  part  of  the  words  are  of  Saxon  origin,  and 


LETTERS    TO    PROFESSOR    TICKNOR.     313 

most  of  the  remainder  (nearly  all),  of  the  oldest  Norman- 
English  (Chaucerian).  In  one  piece  of  forty-five  lines 
(the  first  of  Russian  popular  poetry),  there  are  only  two 
words  not  of  Saxon  origin,  and  those  of  the  oldest  Eng 
lish.  This  result  was  entirely  unpremeditated.  It  was 
not  observed  till  the  pieces  were  printed. 

With  regard  to  literary  employment,  I  am  in  the  same 
situation  as  when  I  wrote  to  you  two  years  ago  on  the 
subject.  I  have  been  employed  the  better  part  of  the  time 
for  some  years  past  on  literary  labors,  which  have  detached 
me  from  other  pursuits,  and  in  fact  have  made  a  continu 
ance  of  such  employment  a  matter  of  the  most  essential 
importance  to  me.  I  cannot  but  think  I  am  entitled 
to  such  employment,  and  that  on  liberal  terms.  Pie.idsfor 

employ- 

I  am  not  willing  to  believe  myself,  as  yet,  merit. 
doomed  solely  in  that  respect  to  profitless  and  thankless 
drudgery.  It  is  my  choice  to  continue  in  such  employ 
ments.  I  think  I  may  be  most  usefully  employed  in  that 
way  ;  nor  am  I  conscious  that  I  have  done  anything  to 
forfeit  my  claims  to  it.  Although  my  former  applica 
tions  to  you  have  been  unavailing,  yet  my  confidence  in 
your  good  wishes  is  such,  that  I  again  present  the  subject 
to  your  attention. 

Have  you  read  Der  Arme  Heinrich  ?  Would  the 
story  be  offensive  to  English  and  American  An  old 

J  German 

tastes  as  it  now  is  ?  There  seem  to  me  fine  poem, 
elements  of  poetry  in  its  composition,  narrated,  it  is  true, 
with  the  utmost  simplicity,  but  on  the  whole  picturesque 
and  pathetic.  The  misehucht  of  Heinrich,  the  strange 
superstition  that  he  could  be  healed  only  by  der  megede 
bliit,  and  the  scene  in  the  meister  at  Salerno  [e],  would 
doubtless  be  offensive  ;  but  the  strong  fidelity  of  der 
meiger  und  der  meigerin  sin  [Vm],  the  heroic  and  de- 
14 


JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XVI. 


voted  attachment  of  in  dohter  die  maget,  to  whom  Hein- 
rich  owed  ere  unde  liss,  and  his  own  grateful  affection 
for  his  trut,  are  in  my  view  choice  materials  for  a  tale 
of  simple  feeling.  I  am  particularly  pleased  by  the 
meeting  of  the  farmer  and  his  wife  on  the  return  of 
their  daughter  and  Heinrich  from  Salerno,  when  they 
found  her  alive  and  well,  and  Heinrich  reine  und  wot 
gesunt,  alse  vor  zwenzig  jar  en.  I  here  give  it,  with 
a  nearly  literal  version,  in  a  loose  rhythm  not  unlike  the 
original. 


dem  raeiger  und  sinen  wibe, 

den  mag  men  wol  geloben, 

man  welle  sie  danne  rehtes  roben 

duz  sie  do  heime  nicht  beliben 

sie  ist  jemer  ungeschriben, 

die  froide,  die  sie  hatten, 

wan  sie  got  hette  beratan 

mit  lieber  ogenwerde, 

die  gabent  in  do  biede 

ir  tohter  und  ir  herre 

es  en-wart  nie  froide  merre 

dan  in  bieden  was  geschehen, 

do  sie  hatten  gesehen, 

daz  sie  gesunt  waren 

sie  en-wusten,  wie  sie  gebaren : 

ir  griis  war  spehe  undersnitten 

mit  vil  selzehen  sitten ; 

ir  herze-liebe  wart  also  gros, 

daz  [in]  das  lachen  begos 

der  regen  von  den  ogen : 

die  rede  ist  ane  logen, 

sie  kusten  irre  dohter  munt 

ettewas  me  dan  dri  stunt. 


Of  the  farmer  and  his  wife 
We  may  well  believe, 
Else  we  should  rob  them  of  right, 
That  they  did  n't  stay  at  home. 
It  has  never  been  described, 
The  joy  that  they  had, 
When  God  had  them  provided 
With  the  pleasant  sight  to  their 

eyes, 

Both  their  daughter  and  their  lord. 
There  was  never  more  joy 
Than  both  befell, 
When  they  had  seen 
That  they  were  well. 
They  knew  not  what  they  did: 
Their  greeting  was  mixed 
In  a  very  strange  way : 
Their  heart's  love  was  so  great, 
That  in  laughing  there  poured 
Rain  from  their  eyes: 
We  may  say  without  a  lie 
That  they  kissed  their  daughter's 

mouth 
Something  more  than  three  times. 


I  observe  in  this  old  poem  the  now  obsolete  en  used 
thus :  en-wart  nie,  was  never ;  en-wusten,  knew  not ; 
cn-schuhet  iveder,  shuns  neither ;  en-gelonbeten  niemans. 


LETTERS    TO    PROFESSOR    TICKNOR.      315 

believed  no  man's ;  nicht  en-sneit,  cut  not.  The  last 
like  the  French  ne — pas,  and  the  Low  Dutch  neit  en-, 
in  the  old  States'  Bible.  The  first  like  ne  — jamais.  The 
second  simple.  The  fourth  double. 

A  line  from  you  would  be  very  agreeable. 
Yours  respectfully, 

JAMES   G.  PERCIVAL. 


TO  GEORGE  TICKNOR. 

NEW  HAVEN,  June  4,  1832. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

I  received  on  Saturday  yours  of  the  30th  ultimo  with  no 
little  satisfaction.  I  am  sorry  to  say,  however,  that  what 
you  have  written  in  relation  to  literary  employment, 
although  I  cannot  doubt  your  readiness  to  assist  me,  still 
leaves  me  in  equal  uncertainty.  The  method  *  Cannot  find 
you  have  proposed  to  rne,  I  have  repeatedly  ment. 
tried  with  different  booksellers  during  the  last  three 
years,  but  without  success.  I  can  have  no  further  confi 
dence  in  any  efforts  I  may  myself  make  in  that  way.  It 
is  easy  for  me  to  find  pursuits  in  which  I  should  like  to  be 
engaged,  and  also  such  as  I  should  feel  myself  competent 
to,  and  in  which  I  should  not  hesitate  to  engage  if  suffi 
ciently  profitable ;  but  the  difficulty  is,  to  form  such  an 
arrangement  with  a  suitable  publisher  as  will  secure  to 
me  a  liberal  compensation.  I  have  been  necessarily  con 
fined  for  some  years,  as  I  before  observed  to  you,  to  liter 
ary  pursuits.  Habit  and  the  difficulty  of  changing  em 
ployments  have  rendered  a  continuance  of  them  almost 
necessary ;  otherwise  I  should  be  strongly  tempted,  from 
my  past  experience,  to  seek  some  better  employment.  I 
*  That  of  submitting  plans  to  publishers. 


316  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XVI. 

have,  however,  borne  much  with  the  hope  that  those  who 
can  judge  of  my  deserts,  and  who  possess  an  influence 
which  may  be  advantageously  used  in  forwarding  my  in 
terests,  would  ultimately  see  that  justice  is  done  me.  I 
am  not  in  a  situation  to  strike  out  an  extensive  plan,  and 
devote  the  necessary  time  and  labor  to  it  at  my  own  risk. 
What  I  now  want  is  an  engagement  not  too  long,  and  for 
which  I  should  be  liberally  compensated ;  one  on  which  I 
could  calculate.  I  am  very  desirous  to  form  it  with  a 
regular  and  respectable  bookseller,  one  who  deals  fairly 
Unfortunate  and  openly,  not  in  nooks  and  corners.  I  have 

with  the  Ge-  "  ... 

ography.  been  very  unfortunate  in  my  connection  with 
the  Geography.  The  course  it  has  taken  has  thrown  me 
seriously  into  the  background.  For  the  last  two  years 
my  income  has  been  only  sixty-five  dollars  a  year,  and 
that  from  the  Geography.  For  this  I  have  employed 
several  months  each  year  of  the  closest  application,  at  a 
compensation  of  only  about  fifteen  dolters  a  month ;  all 
the  time  subject  to  the  unmannerly  duns  and  cavils  of  the 
publisher.  Several  of  the  numbers  were  published  with 
out  submitting  the  proofs  to  my  revision,  and  this  after  I 
had  expressly  announced  in  an  advertisement  my  inten 
tion  of  thoroughly  correcting  the  translation.  Having 
found  an  opportunity  of  examining  these  numbers  (the 
works  not  sent  to  me  as  published,  though  needed),  and 
finding  them  full  of  errors,  I  procured  from  the  publisher 
an  engagement  to  distribute  a  table  of  errata  for  these 
numbers  among  his  subscribers,  as  soon  as  I  could  pre 
pare  it.  I  completed  it,  and  saw  it  printed  in  May,  1830. 
In  May,  1831, 1  found  that  it  had  not  been  distributed.  I 
then  wrote  to  the  publisher,  requiring  its  distribution.  He 
said  it  was  then  his  intention  to  retain  it  till  the  end  of 
the  work ;  but  on  my  again  pressing  it,  he  agreed  again 


LETTERS    TO    PROFESSOR    TICKNOR.      317 

to  distribute  it  without  delay.  Less  than  three  months 
ago  he  sent  me  a  copy  of  it  for  revision,  stating  that  he 
was  then  preparing  it  for  distribution.  From  what  I 
have  since  observed,  I  have  reason  to  think  that  he  has 
not  yet  distributed  it.  I  have  written  to  him  on  the  sub 
ject,  and  received  an  evasive  answer.  I  do  not  myself 
believe  that  he  has  distributed  it,  or  that  he  intends  to. 
By  the  course  which  he  has  taken,  he  has,  in  my  view, 
not  only  violated  his  word,  but  done  a  serious  injury  to 
my  reputation  for  accuracy.  It  is  my  wish  to  avoid  all 
such  disagreeable  connections  in  future.  I  might  specify 
the  plans,  if  necessary,  which  I  have  already  submitted 
to  booksellers.  One  of  them  which  I  submitted  to  Carter 
and  Hendee  last  spring,  without  success,  I  detailed  to  you 
at  the  time  (an  edition  of  Lempriere's  Biographical  Dic 
tionary).  I  had,  however,  much  rather  leave  the  choice 
of  the  work  to  the  booksellers,  or  to  a  friend  who  is  better 
situated  than  I  am  to  judge  what  work,  suitable  to  my 
talents  and  attainments,  would  be  most  likely  to  succeed 
with  the  public.  I  would  .only  say,  that  I  wish  such  en 
gagements  to  be  with"  a  regular  publisher,  not  too  long, 
and  with  a  compensation  at  least  so  liberal  as  not  to  im 
pose  upon  me  a  drudgery.  I  cannot  any  longer  bear  that. 
Such  an  engagement,  from  the  unfavorable  situation  in 
which  I  have  been  placed  for  the  last  three  years,  is  of 
much  importance  to  me.  I  still  rely  upon  your  His  confl- 

J     ,      dence  in  l>ro- 

reaclmess  to  assist  me  with  your  influence  m  fessorTicknor. 
procuring  me  such  employment,  and  shall  wait  with  no 
little  confidence  that  my  expectations  will  not  be  disap 
pointed. 

When  I  said  that  I  did  not  regret  that  my  subscription 
had  failed,  I  added  that  at  least  I  preferred  that  it  should 
fail  entirely  as  it  had  than  that  it  should  partially  have 


318  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XVI. 

succeeded.  I  should,  however,  have  been  highly  gratified 
had  my  proposition  been  fully  met.  I  should  have  con 
sidered  such  a  result  equally  honorable  to  both  parties ; 
to  me,  for  having  confided,  to  my  friends  and  the  public, 
for  having  answered  my  confidence.  But  since  the  affair 
has  resulted  as  it  has,  I  do  not  wish  to  meddle  any 
further  with  the  publication  of  poetry.  My  feelings  revolt 
against  it. 

1  am  much  gratified  to  find  you  so  well  pleased  with 
Mr.  H.  Mr.  Augur.*  I  hope  he  will  meet  amply  and 
richly  in  his  walk  of  art  the  encouragement 
which  has  been  denied  to  me  in  mine. 

In  my  remarks  on  Arme  Heinrich,  I  did  not  intend 
The  old  Ger-  to  convey  the  impression  that  I  designed  to 

man  poem 

again  and  a  translate  it.  I  had  been  very  much  struck  with 
Philology,  the  persons  of  it,  and  I  wished  to  convey  my 
impression  to  the  only  one  I  knew  in  this  country  with 
whom  I  could  communicate  on  the  subject.  I  am  per 
suaded,  indeed,  that  the  main  pivot  of  the  poem,  Hein- 
rich's  leprosy,  would  shock  the  fastidiousness  of  present 
taste.  Still  I  think  the  poem  is  rich  in  all  the  elements  of 
a  simple  pathetic  story.  It  would  seem  that  at  those  early 
periods  the  leprosy  was  a  frequent  subject  of  poetic  inter 
est;  but  it  is  now  very  different  (nous  avons  change  tout 
[tort]  celd).  See  the  Appendix  to  the  Grimms'  edi 
tion  (the  one  I  have  used)  III.,  uber  den  aussatz,  and  par 
ticularly  the  old  Dutch  ballad  at  the  end.  You  ask  if 
Ettewas  me  dan  dri  stunt  should  not  be  rendered  three 
hours  rather  than  three  times,  as  I  rendered  it.  I  gave 
my  rendering  from  reflection.  I  did  not  doubt  that  stunt 
was  the  present  German  stunde  (hour).  Grimm,  how 
ever,  here  renders  dri  stunt  by  dreimal.  Three  hours  I 
*  Mr.  Horatio  Augur,  the  untaught  sculptor. 


jst?w.]     LETTERS    TO    PROFESSOR    TICKNOR.     319 

thought  too  long  a  salutation  even  for  such  a  meaning,  and 
yet  something  ettewas  more  than  three  hours  seemed  less 
quaint  than  something  more  than  three  times.  I  have, 
however,  observed  similar  phraseology  with  the  last 
among  our  country  people,  to  express  an  uncertain  but  not 
very  great  repetition.  Grimm  observes  in  a  note  that 
ettewas  is  only  intensive  (r.tarkand)  of  me,  —  in  the  Vat. 
manuscript  michel  me  (much  more).  I  find  it  stated 
in  Jahn's  Biblical  Archaeology,  p.  189,  in  describing  the 
extravagance  of  Oriental  salutation,  that  the  Orientals 
sometimes  repeated  the  act  of  salutation  not  less  than  ten 
times.  If  ten  times  was  extravagant  in  the  impassioned 
Orientals,  three,  or  something  more  than  three,  might  be 
considered  sufficiently  so  among  the  soberer  Germans.  I 
have  noted  the  different  uses  of  stunt  in  this  poem ;  and  I 
think  when  it  may  bear  the  meaning  of  hour,  it  rather 
signifies  quando  than  quamdiu.  Lines  318,  319,  do  flach 
sie  zu  alien  strunden,  —  zii  ime  ;  yet  she  flew  at  all  times 
(hours)  to  him.  Line  555,  ander  selben  stunt;  at  that 
very  time.  Lines  586,  587,  unde  wurstenfur  dien  stunt, — 
der  redejemer  me  hit;  and  now  (for  this  time)  if  you  ever 
again  speak  of  it.  Lines  946-956,  dir  wer  der  laut-lute 
spot,  —  swar  ich  fur  disce  stunde, —  inich  arzenien  under- 
wunde,  —  unde  mich  dock  nut  verviange,  —  wan  als  es 
doch  ergienge  ;  the  people  would  laugh  at  me,  should  I 
now  (for  this  time)  try  medicines,  and  with  no  better 
success  than  before  ?  Lines  1182,  1183,  hinfurt  er  sie  ze 
stunt,  —  in  sin  heinlich  gemach  ;  he  led  her  then  (at  that 
very  time)  into  his  secret  chamber.  Lines  1371, 1372,  und 
mahte  in  do  ze  stunt-reine  und  wol  gesunt ;  and  made 
him  at  that  moment  clean  and  well.  Line  1478,  dar  ich 
vor  kurzer  stunt ;  that  I  a  short  time  (a  little  while)  ago. 
These,  if  J  mistake  not,  are  the  only  instances  in  which  the 


320  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XVI. 

word  is  used  in  the  poem,  and  it  seems  to  me  they  con 
firm  the  Grimms'  rendering,  which  I  followed.  In  read 
ing  this  poem  I  have  had  to  guess  my  way,  as  I  had  no 
old  German  glossary.  The  Grimms'  version  is  not  very 
literal,  and  it  seems  to  me  in  many  instances  not  to  con 
vey  the  peculiar  beauty  of  the  original.  I  have  judged 
for  myself  from  my  knowledge  of  German  and  other 
Teutonic  dialects. 

The  double  negative  en — neat,  rather,  triple  gien  —  en 
niet,  is  once  used  in  the  old  Dutch  ballad.  St.  7,  habber 
geen  kompen  ofte  schoen,  —  en  in  zaven  jaar  met  gedra- 
gun  ;  I  have  no  stockings  or  shoes  not  in  seven  years  not 
worn,  i.  e.  /  have  not  worn  stockings  or  shoes  for  seven 
years.  The  Grimms,  in  their  version,  have  a  double  nega 
tive,  kain  and  nichts,  —  /  have  not  worn  no  stockings  and 
no  shoes  ;  exactly  like  our  vulgar  usage,  —  there  did  n't 
nobody  do  it.  This  subject  of  a  double  negative  I  have 
examined  somewhat,  and  think  it  would  furnish  materials 
for  a  curious  dissertation.  Another,  too:  why  do  the 
French  omit  the  n  in  Frenchifying  German  and  Dutch 
names  ending  in  en,  as  Hemingen ;  French,  Hemingue  ? 
and  why  is  the  infinitive  termination  e  or  a  in  the  Scan 
dinavian  language,  while  it  is  en  or  an  in  all  the  culti 
vated  Teutonic  languages  from  Maeso- Gothic  to  German? 
This  I  think  I  have  [shown]]  by  recurrence  to  popular 
dialects  and  common  pronunciation.  Another  curious 
subject  is  the  degradation  of  words  in  some  languages, 
while  they  retain  in  other  cognate  languages  their  original 
elevated  meanings.  This  is  particularly  the  case  in  the 
English  as  compared  with  its  kindred  languages,  German, 
Dutch,  etc.  Thus  wagon  (wageri),  stool  (stufil),  hide 
(haut),  etc.  Excuse  my  prosing. 

Yours  respectfully, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 


HIS    POVERTY.  321 

TO  GEORGE  TICKNOR. 

NEW  HAVEN,  July  6, 1832. 
DEAR  Sm,  — 

I  received  yours  of  the  29th  ultimo  some  days  since  with 
great  satisfaction.  Although  it  did  not  present  me  with 
any  immediate  prospect,  yet  I  consider  it  as  a  full  as 
surance  of  your  good  wishes  to  me,  and  it  is  now  with 
renewed  confidence  that  I  venture  on  this  reply.  I  have, 
however,  hesitated  awhile  in  answering  you,  not  from  any 
want  of  confidence  in  you,  but  rather  in  myself.  Peels  him. 
In  truth,  I  feel  myself  in  a  very  critical  position  ;  SuMd'coS7 
and  being  so  placed,  I  have  distrusted  my  own  dition> 
feelings  in  any  attempt  at  further  correspondence  with 
you,  lest  they  might  betray  me  into  some  expression  which 
might  do  me  an  injury.  I  wish  to  express  myself  plainly, 
and  I  trust  you  will  make  due  allowances  for  any  remark 
which  under  different  circumstances  might  seem  improper. 
Four  or  five  years  ago,  when  engaged  on  the  Dictionary, 
and  when  I  had  the  first  five  volumes  of  the  Geography 
(English  edition)  on  hand  to  prepare  as  fast  as  I  could, 
I  succeeded,  by  the  severest  and  most  self-denying  appli 
cation,  in  raising  my  income  for  about  two  years  to  some 
thing  approaching  the  income  of  such  literary  men  in  this 
country  as  are  sustained  in  their  pursuits.  Unlike  most 
such,  I  did  not  increase  my  expenses  at  all,  but  confined 
them  to  what  was  barely  necessary.  Calculating  on  a 
continuance  of  similarly  steady  and  equally  profitable  em 
ployment,  I  invested  the  surplus  of  my  income  in  such  a 
way  as  I  thought  best  suited  to  my  literary  pursuits,  but 
so  that  I  do  not  now  wish  to  disturb  it,  nor  can  I  without 
a  ruinous  sacrifice.  But  instead  of  a  regular  continuance 
14*  u 


322  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XVI. 

of  employment,  there  has  been  an  entire  falling  off.  For 
more  than  three  years  past  my  income  has  been  unequal 
His  income  to  my  moderate  expenses ;  for  the  last  two  years, 
dollar? a*  as  I  have  already  stated,  only  sixty  five  dollars 
per  annum.  The  consequence  is,  that  now,  un- 
less  l  can  secure  to  myself  a  regular  and  liber- 
man-  ally  compensated  employment,  I  cannot  sustain 

myself;  with  such  employment,  which  I  cannot  think  but 
that  I  have  amply  deserved,  by  my  talents,  my  attain 
ments,  and  the  fidelity,  accuracy,  and  industry  with  which 
I  have  accomplished  what  I  have  undertaken,  —  with  such 
employment  my  way  will  be  smooth  before  me.  Under 
such  circumstances,  I  feel  myself  compelled  to  plead  for 
employment,  steady  employment,  and  with  a  compensa 
tion  suited  to  me,  such  as  is  fit  for  a  literary  man  who 
deserves  encouragement.  I  have  no  wish  for  anything 
more.  Only  give  me  light  and  room  (noi^o-ov  d*  tu0pip)9 
and  I  am  sure  I  can  exert  myself  still  with  as  much  effort 
and  diligence  as  any,  and  I  doubt  not  with  sufficient 
effect.  But  if  employment  and  encouragement  should  be 
withheld  from  me,  as  it  has  been  for  the  last  three  years, 
the  consequence  is  apparently  inevitable.  I  wish  only  for 
a  fair  and  honorable  opportunity  to  extricate  myself.  The 
employments  mentioned  in  your  letter  would  be  agreeable 
to  me,  if  sufficiently  compensated.  I  should  not  engage  in 
them  as  a  matter  of  ambition,  but  il  faut  vwre,  first  of  all, 
I  must  secure  a  proper  income  by  my  own  exertions.  If 
I  cannot  do  that,  ambitious  pursuits  are  ridiculous. 

There  is  one  employment,  however,  which  I  would  wish 

His  opinion    to   place  above  interest  or  ambition,  which  I 

JwfcauT*"   would    choose    to    regard    as    holy,  —  poetry. 

True  poetry  should  be  a  holy  thing,  like   true 

philosophy  and  true  religion,  —  the  product  only  of  our 


SEARCH  FOR  LITERARY  EMPLOYMENT.    323 

highest  intellectual  and  moral  nature  (ein  reines  vernunfti- 
ges  gefuhl).  I  have  expressed  this  figuratively  in  a  for 
mula,  which  I  may  give  as  my  Credo,  —  "  Philosophy,  Re 
ligion,  and  Poetry  sit  enthroned  as  a  spiritual  Triunity  in 
the  shrine  of  our  highest  nature.  The  perfect  vision  of 
all-embracing  truth,  the  vital  feeling  of  all-blessing  good, 
and  the  living  conception  of  all-gracing  beauty,  they  form 
united  the  Divinity  of  Pure  Reason."  With  such  feelings 
I  can  no  longer  look  to  my  poetry  as  a  source  of  emolu 
ment.  I  cannot  consent  to  use  it  for  such  a  purpose.  I 
can  only  regard  it  as  the  vestal  fire  in  my  adytum.  I  must 
meet  the  world  with  weapons  of  a  more  earthly  temper. 

When  I  thus  express  my  wish  and  anxiety  to  engage 
in  some  profitable  employment,  although  in  itself  Does  not 
purely  laborious,  I  do  not  acknowledge  any  dis-  pjjjcai  hi8 
trust  of  my  poetical  talents,  any  defeat  or  failure  taleuts- 
in  that  way,  any  lower  feeling  for  poetry  ;  on  the  contrary, 
my  poetical  feelings  are  higher,  my  confidence  in  such  abil 
ity  is  raised ;  but  I  will  not  again  come  before  the  public 
in  that  character.     It  would  be  idle  to  attempt  it. 

I  observed  to  you  before,  that  I  had  presented  different 
plans  to  booksellers  within  the  last  three  years,  Presents 
but  without  success.     I  could  detail  these  plans  booksellers 

.„,.  ,  TTT-TTl  •          I.         WithOUt 

and  others,  if  desired.  Had  1,  like  certain  mdi-  success. 
viduals  I  could  name,  who  I  think  are  my  inferiors  in 
capacity,  a  steady  well-paid  employment,  with  sufficient 
leisure,  I  could  keep  myself  busily  employed  for  a  long 
life  in  executing  the  literary  and  scientific  plans  which 
are  more  distinctly  in  my  mind ;  but  placed  as  I  now  am, 
without  income  and  without  prospects,  to  attempt  any 
one  of  them  spontaneously  would  be  like  shooting  in  the 
dark,  a  randa  a  randa,  when  in  all  probability  the  shaft 
would  fall  a  mezzo,  volgia.  As  I  am  now  situated,  some 


324  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAT.  XVI. 

employment  on  which  I  can  calculate  is  a  matter  of  first, 
indispensable  necessity.  With  that  secured  to  me,  I  could 
go  on  with  confidence,  and  I  would  hope  to  ascend  into  a 
brighter  region.  I  still  have  undiminished,  rather  I  have 
now  increased  confidence  in  your  friendly  regard,  and  I 
doubt  not  you  will  readily  improve  any  opportunity  to 
put  me  in  the  way  of  employing  myself  to  advantage.  I 
should  like  much  to  see  you  personally  and  discuss  my 
concerns  more  directly  than  I  can  in  a  letter,  but  I  regret 
to  say  my  circumstances  do  not  permit  me.  If  anything 
should  offer  to  you,  or  if  you  could  give  me  any  sugges- 
Depenrience  tions  of  any  importance  to  me,  a  line  from  you 
would  be  peculiarly  gratifying.  It  would  be 

one  of  the  vei7  few  ra7s  which  now  visit  me. 
last  resort,  j  haye  written  this  with  full  confidence  that  you 
will  interpret  all  kindly  and  favorably.  I  have  spoken 
of  myself  with  a  freedom  that  I  feel  can  only  be  justified 
by  my  peculiar  circumstances.  I  find  myself  driven  to 
an  extremity  in  which  I  must  vindicate  my  own  claims  or 
succumb.  Self-defence  is  the  first  law  and  the  last  effort 
of  nature.  I  must  therefore  bespeak  your  indulgence  in 
reading  this  letter.  I  can  truly  say  I  know  of  no  other 
one  to  whom  I  would  so  have  confided  myself. 
Yours  sincerely, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

It  is  pleasant  to  observe  this  generous  confidence  placed 
by  one  literary  man  in  the  friendly  good-will  of  the  other ; 
and  yet  pleasanter  to  know  that  Professor  Ticknor  was 
equal  to  the  expectations  of  his  friend  and  aided  him  in 
every  possible  way.  Percival  was  now  anxious  to  the  last 
degree  as  to  his  future.  The  following  note  came  through 
the  post-office  a  few  days  after  the  preceding  letter:  — 


GOES    TO    BOSTON.  325 

BOSTON,  July  18,  1832. 

DEAR  SIR,  — 

I  am  at  present  here,  and  should  like  an  opportunity 
of  seeing  you  on  the  subjects  I  have  written  percivaigoe3 
about  of  late.     Whether  any  immediate  results  to  see  him> 
might  arise  from  any  discussion  of  these  subjects  or  not, 
I  cannot  but  think  it  of  great  importance  to  me  to  have 
an  opportunity  of  a  free  conversation  with  you. 
Yours  respectfully, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

GEOKGE  TICKNOR,  ESQ. 

An  attempt  was  made  to  sell  an  edition  of  the  poems 
to  a  Boston  bookseller.  Through  Dr.  Hayward,  he  of 
fered  it  on  the  following  terms  :  — 

"  I  will  assent  to  an  edition  of  my  poems  of  two  thou 
sand  copies,  retail  price  not  to  exceed  two  dol-  Attempt  to 
lars  per  copy,  preparation  to  be  left  with  me,  ^dn*  r  MB" 
for  five  hundred  dollars,  payable  on  preparation  P°ems- 
of  the  copy,  and   ten   copies  on   publication.     You  will 
much  oblige  me  by  a  speedy  answer  favorable  or  unfavor 
able." 

This  was  thought  to  be  too  much  by  the  publisher,  and 
Percival  resented  some  necessary  inquiries,  so  its  failure 
that  nothing  came  of  it.     Dr.  Hayward  made  to  cause. 
him,  in  regard  to  this  affair,  a  very  just  remark  :  "  I  be 
lieve  much  of  your  ill  success  with  booksellers  is  owing 
to  the  manner  in  which  you  treat  them."     He  told  his 
friend  very  plainly  and  frankly  his  situation  at  this  time. 
The  letters  are  similar  in  their  statements  to  those  ad 
dressed  to  Professor  Ticknor. 


326  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XVI. 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  October  18, 1832. 

....  I  cannot,  however,  any  longer  forbear  stating  ex- 
iiis  pecuni-  plicitly  certain  facts  relating  to  the  Geography 
tion.  and  their  effect  on  my  circumstances.  Six  years 

since  I  entered  into  my  engagement  to  edit  the  work. 
When  in  Boston,  in  August,  I  had  prepared  eight  vol 
umes,  for  which  I  had  received  $1,040,  —  less  than  $200 
per  annum.  For  the  four  years  previous,  I  had  received 
only  $  390,  —  less  than  $  100  per  annum.  For  the  two 
years  previous  only  $130, — but  $65  per  annum.  I  was 
paid  for  all  the  time  employed  on  Webster's  Dictionary 
at  the  rate  of  $  1,000  per  annum.  So  inadequate  has 
been  the  compensation  for  the  time  employed  on  the 
Geography  that  I  have  spent  on  it  many  months  of  close 
application  for  less  than  $  15  per  month  (not  including 
reading  proofs  of  the  same).  I  have  not  done  this  cer 
tainly  for  the  compensation  received,  but  from  a  determi 
nation  to  fulfil  my  engagement  strictly,  and  from  a  confi 
dent  expectation  that  my  friends  in  Boston  would  use  their 
influence  to  procure  me  such  employment  as  would  ulti 
mately  make  good  to  me  the  time  lost  in  so  doing.  More 
than  two  years  since  I  stated  these  circumstances  to  some 
of  my  friends  in  Boston,  and  requested  them  to  use  their 
influence  in  procuring  me  such  employment.  I  have  also 
AH  his  efforts  made  personal  application  myself  to  booksellers 
unsuccessful.  in  Boston  .  but  an  vvithout  any  result.  I  must 

say  that  my  expectations  have  been  wholly  disappointed, 
nor  has  this  been  by  any  means  without  embarrassment 
to  me.  I  write  this  unwillingly;  for  in  a  matter  like  this, 
1  dislike  above  all  things  to  urge  what  I  fully  believe  a 


HIS    POVERTY.  327 

just  claim,  when  it  is  not  readily  granted  ;  but  it  is  time 
for  me  either  to  find  what  I  have  expected  or  to  abandon 
all  reliance  on  it,  and  look  in  other  directions 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  November  3,  1832. 

I  wrote  you  last  month,  stating  my  circumstances.     In 
consequence  of  those  circumstances,  suspense  is  suspense  now 
now  to  me  in  the  last  degree  painful.    You  will  E^the 
therefore  very  much  oblige  me  by  stating  to  me  lastde^ree- 
distinctly  your  opinion  whether,  in  the  way  of  literary 
employment,  I  can  in  the  present  conjuncture  expect  any 
thing  from  Boston.     Something  I  must  find  to  do,  as  I 
am  unwilling  to  throw  away  all  expectations  from  Boston 
without  an  express  declaration  that  I  may  rely  on.     I 
therefore  make  to  you  this  request 

P.  S.  —  I  have  returned  a  book  I  borrowed  of  Mr.  A. 
H.  Everett  (Du  Pape),  directed  to  the  care  of  Gray  and 
Bowen,  and  forwarded  in  a  package  by  Mr.  Howe,  book 
seller.  You  will  oblige  me  by  mentioning  this  to  him 
when  you  meet  him. 


TO  GEORGE  HAYWARD. 

NEW  HAVEN,  November  18,  1832. 

....  In  truth,  in  consequence  of  the  time  and  oppor 
tunity  lost  in  fulfilling  my  engagements  with  the  ms  pocuni- 
Geography,  and  the  disappointment  of  all  my  S  more" 
expectations  in  Boston,  I  am  in  a  more  difficult  ^bj™3" 
and   embarrassing  situation  than 


328  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XVI. 

been  in  my  life,  and  this  with  property  that  ought  to  be 
worth  to  me  at  least  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  (prop 
erty  that  I  would  not  on  any  account  dispose  of,  and 
which  I  could .  not  without  a  ruinous  sacrifice),  and  with 
engagements  (including  the  remains  of  the  Geography) 
to  the  amount  of  thirteen  hundred  dollars.  But  I  am 
entirely  without  available  funds.  How  I  can  extricate 
myself,  I  do  not  well  know ;  but  I  will  not  do  it  by  any 
voluntary  sacrifice  of  essential  interests.  I  have  thus 
made  a  plain  statement  of  my  situation  to  you. 

P.  S.  —  With  regard  to  my  residence  in  Boston  or 
vicinity,  I  will  simply  say,  that,  if  I  were  to  consult  my 
wishes  merely,  I  should  not  remove,  but  I  would  assent 
if  it  could  really  secure  to  me  steady  and  profitable  em 
ployment. 

The  poet  had  now  fairly  entered  upon  the  desperate 
A  desperate  struggle  with  poverty  from  which  he  was  not 

struggle  with  J 

poverty.  free  till  near  the  close  of  his  life.  The  inter 
est  in  literary  pursuits  was  not  yet  general  enough  to 
authorize  the  publication  of  such  works  as  gave  full  scope 
for  the  use  of  PercivaFs  vast  and  accurate  knowledge ; 
and  our  publishers,  finding  a  ready  sale  for  cheap  reprints 
of  English  publications,  did  almost  nothing  to  encourage 
the  talents  of  our  own  authors.  His  efforts  to  obtain 
literary  employment  had  all  signally  failed  ;  he  could  not 
sell  an  edition  of  his  poems,  and  there  was  no  use  in 
further  exertion.  Yet,  disheartening  as  were  his  pros- 
He  does  not  pects,  he  did  not  give  up.  "  He  found  shelter 
give  up.  among  books  which  insult  not,  and  studies  that 
ask  no  questions  of  [one's]  finances."  He  reduced  his 
expenses  to  the  lowest  sum,  boarding  himself  in  his  own 


HIS    POVERTY.  329 

rooms,  and  gave  himself  unreservedly  to  those  favorite 
pursuits  which  had  now  for  some  years  been  Engages  anew 

.  .in  favorite 

held  in  abeyance.  He  was  engaged  chiefly  in  studies. 
studies  pertaining  to  the  languages,  making  elaborate 
researches  in  philology,  and  composing  as  a  pastime  in 
the  languages  with  which  he  was  most  familiar,  as  the 
German,  Italian,  and  French  ;  and  while  his  own  nar 
row  circumstances  caused  him  necessarily  to  withdraw 
from  intercourse  with  his  fellow-men  to  the  still  and 
secluded  life  of  the  scholar,  yet  his  very  interest  in 
these  studies  sometimes  led  him  out  into  society.  A 
member  of  the  Class  of  1833,  at  Yale,  remembers  dis 
tinctly  the  viva  voce  translations  from  Goethe  viva  voce 
and  Schiller  which  he  was  induced  to  give  be-  SlSe 
fore  his  classmates  ;  and  there  were  many  who,  and  Schiller- 
meeting  him  mousing  in  the  alcoves  of  the  college  library, 
found  him  singularly  communicative  and  his  conversation 
unexpectedly  rich  and  free.  If  one  came  upon  him  thus 
accidentally,  it  seemed  to  please  him  ;  he  was  ready  to 
talk  ;  and  many  a  student,  meeting  him  in  these  chance 
ways,  carried  away  perhaps  the  most  correct  impression 
of  the  apparently  wayward  genius  who  dwelt  apart  from 
men. 

He  was  not,  however,  at  this  time  without  proposals 
from  two  or  three  publishers,  which  he  seriously  Proposals 
entertained.      One    was    from    Fessenden    and  H 


Company  of  Brattleboro,  Vermont,  requesting  him  to 
edit  a  complete  American  edition  of  the  British  Poets. 
He  consented,  and  had  begun  to  prepare  for  it,  when,  early 
in  1834,  they  wrote  him  that  "the  publication  of  the  poets 
and  all  the  steps  regarding  it  have  been  suspended  in 
consequence  of  the  times.  All  business  is  at  a  stand." 
He  also  became  a  regular  contributor  to  the  Knicker- 


330  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XVI, 

bocker  Magazine,  which  then,  under  its  young  editors, 
Contributes  Clark  and  Edson,  commanded  the  best  pens  in 
Knfcker-  our  country,  and  did  more  than  any  other  period 
ical  to  encourage  many  of  our  present  best  native 
writers.  His  communications  were  in  both  prose  and 
verse,  and  contributed  largely  toward  his  slender  income. 
Contracts  to  Another  engagement,  which  promised  greater 
tory  of  the  results  than  anything  else,  was  a  History  of  the 
States.  United  States  of  America,  as  a  continuation  of 
Botta's  History  of  the  War  of  Independence,  commencing 
at  the  close  of  the  Revolutionary  War  in  1783,  and  em 
bracing  the  intermediate  time  to  the  end  of  Monroe's  ad 
ministration  in  the  year  1825.  He  contracted  to  engage 
upon  this  in  June,  1833,  and  at  once  began  to  collect 
his  materials.  He  was  to  have  five  hundred  dollars  ad 
vanced  to  him  each  year,  until  its  completion,  and  then 
was  to  receive  ten  per  cent  of  the  profits  accruing  from 
the  work,  after  "  the  amount  of  such  commission  had 
been  first  applied  to  the  repayment,  with  interest,  of  the 
money  advanced  "  to  him  by  the  publisher,  Mr.  Nathan 
Whiting,  a  bookseller  in  New  Haven.  He  actually  be- 
The  work  gan  tne  composition  of  the  work ;  and  the  manu 
script  is  still  among  his  papers,  a  mere  fragment. 
He  had  some  intention  also  of  preparing  a  Synopsis  of 
General  Knowledge,  for  which,  indeed,  his  encyclopedic 
range  of  information  excellently  prepared  him  ;  but  it  was 
only  one  of  those  plans  which  flitted  brilliantly  across  his 
mind,  "  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision." 

A  letter  to  Professor  Ticknor  at  this  time  has  a 
Themanu-  special  value,  as  showing  the  direction  of  his 
oMterman  studies,  and  as  containing  his  matured  opinion 
poetry.  on  severai  literary  subjects.  It  was  preceded 
by  a  manuscript  book  of  German  poetry  which  he  sent 


HIS    GERMAN    VERSES.  331 

for  his  opinion  of  its  merits,  and  for  the  opinion  of  some 
educated  German  as  to  his  success  with  the  idioms  of  a 
foreign  language.  Professor  Ticknor  sent  it  to  his  friend 
Dr.  Follen,  then  a  professor  in  Harvard  University,  who 
returned  it  with  a  brief  criticism  which  greatly  pleased 
the  author 


TO  GEOKGE  TICKNOK. 

CAMBRIDGE,  January  14,  1834. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

I  have  read  with  much  interest,  pleasure,  and  wonder 
the  piece  of  German  poetry  which  you  enclosed  Dr 
in  the  letter  I  received  from  you  yesterday. 
This  attempt  of  one  who  has  learned  German  only  from 
books  at  expressing,  in  that  language,  his  own  individual 
conceptions,  evidently  shows  that  he  has  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  those  works,  and  that  the  foreign  idiom  did  not 
prevent  him  from  finding  in  them  an  expression  of  his 
own  feelings.  There  is  a  number  of  mistakes  against  the 
grammar  and  the  idiom,  which  I  will  point  out  to  you 
whenever  you  can  let  me  have  the  poem  for  a  longer 
time  ;  but  many  lines  and  some  entire  stanzas  are  fault 
less.  Such  as  these  :  — 

"  Wie  sterbte  der  Verstand  zum  wahren,"  etc.; 

"  Nunscheint  der  Blitz,"  etc.; 
"  So  gehen  wir  durch  dieses  Leben,"  etc. 

It  was  but  this  afternoon  that  I  found  time  to  read  the 
poem  over  with  some  care ;  and  now  I  have  to  send  it  off 
with  this  very  imperfect  criticism,  that  it  may  reach  you 


332  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XVI. 

this  evening  according  to  your  appointment.     But  I  hope 
you  will  let  me  have  it  once  more  at  some  other  time. 
Your  friend  and  servant, 

C.  FOLLEN. 

Encouraged  by  this  favorable  opinion,  he  sent  on  his 
Sends  on  German  verses  to  Professor  Ticknor  for  further 
more  verses.  exarainati0n.  He  again  forwarded  them  to 
Dr.  Follen,  who  returned  them  back  with  the  following 
note :  — 

TO  GEOKGE  TICKNOR. 

CAMBRIDGE,  April  4,  1834. 

DEAR  SIR,  — 

I  have  read  with  great  interest  and  pleasure  the  poetry 
which  you  were  so  kind  as  to  send  me ;  but  my  many 
engagements  have  prevented  me  from  making  any  written 
remarks.  But  I  will  endeavor  to  see  Dr.  Percival  while 
he  is  in  Boston ;  and  as  I  know  that  there  is  nothing  a 
lover  likes  so  well  as  to  hear  a  disinterested  friend  talk 
about  the  object  of  his  devotion,  I  will  converse  with  him 
solely  on  German  poetry. 

Your  friend  and  servant, 

C.  FOLLEN. 

The  letter  already  referred  to  speedily  followed  his 
manuscript :  — 

TO  GEORGE  TICKNOR. 

NEW  HAVEN,  February  17,  1834. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

I  sent  you  two  or  three  weeks  since  a  package  of  Ger 
man  verses,  with  a  few  specimens  of  French  and  Italian. 


HIS    GERMAN    VERSES.  333 

I  did  not,  in  the  accompanying  note,  request  you  to  send 
me  your  opinion  of  them ;  still  I  did  not  doubt  that  you 
would  do  so  when  you  had  leisure  to  examine  them,  or  as 
before  to  refer  the  German  to  Dr.  Follen.  I 

His  verses. 

should  be  gratified  by  such  an  opinion,  however 
unfavorable  it  might  be.  I  do  not  profess  nor  aim  to 
write  in  any  other  language  than  my  own.  These  were 
mere  jeux  de  mots,  not  in  the  common  meaning  of  that 
phrase,  but  in  one  perhaps  allowable.  Having  never 
studied  the  composition  of  any  foreign  language,  nor  even 
practised  on  a  single  theme,  not  even  in  Greek  or  Latin, 
(for  composition  in  those  languages  never  was  set  me  by 
my  teachers, 

If  such  I  might  have  had,  who  such  had  none), 

and  I  cannot  pretend  to  write  with  accuracy  in  such  lan 
guages,  nor  shall  I  feel  surprised  or  disappointed  if  the 
specimens  I  sent  you  abound  in  errors  of  grammar  and 
idiom.  What  I  intended  was  to  assume  the  air  His  idea  in 
and  spirit  of  the  literature  I  attempted  to  imi-  them.0 
tate ;  and,  indeed,  I  flatter  myself  that  in  that  I  have  not 
entirely  failed.  To  arrange  my  thoughts  and  feelings  as 
a  German  or  Italian  poet,  to  assume  their  tone  and  man 
ner,  and  to  follow  their  expression,  was  my  main  design ; 
and  if  I  have  failed  in  that,  I  shall  truly  think  my  labor 
lost.  Whatever  capacity  I  may  have  to  write  verse 
in  the  languages  I  have  attempted  has  been  gained  un 
consciously,  not  by  purpose  or  effort.  It  is  only  the 
spontaneous  result  of  my  reading  in  the  poetry  of  those 
languages,  and  of  the  interest  excited  in  me  by  such  read 
ing.  It  has  come  to  me  simply  as  a  child  acquires  his 
vernacular ;  not,  however,  by  the  ear,  but  by  the  eye. 
Many  things  I  have  put  down  in  these  specimens,  because 


334  JAMES    GATES    PEKCIVAL.     [ CHAP.  XVI. 

they  were  hovering  undefinedly  in  my  memory,  not  be 
cause  I  could  justify  them  by  grammar  or  dictionary  ;  and 
a  few  things  I  did  alter  in  obedience  to  such  guides,  where 
I  have  since  found  my  first  copy  justified  by  my  reading. 
I  will  again  repeat  that  I  should  be  gratified  by  your  and 
Dr.  Follen's  opinion,  and  hope  you  will  not  delay  commu 
nicating  it  to  me,  though  I  say  unhesitatingly  that  success 
\n  such  a  line  is  neither  desired  nor  expected  by  me. 

I  might  at  first  be  pleased  by  a  difficulty  overcome; 
but  excellence  in  one's  native  literature  ought  to  fill  the 
whole  compass  of  one's  ambition  and  effort.  I  will  take 
The  study  of  tnis  opportunity  to  observe  that  I  do  not  think  it 
language.  any  a(jvantage  to  one,  but  quite  the  contrary,  to 
cultivate  the  composition  of  any  language  but  the  one  in 
which  he  means  to  distinguish  himself  as  a  writer,  i.  e. 
his  vernacular.  The  perfect  command  of  his  own  lan 
guage  is  enough  for  any  author.  If  he  attempts  another, 
he  will  always  want  the  grace  and  ease  of  a  native,  and 
will  be  in  no  little  danger  of  impairing  the  purity  of  his 
own.  The  mastery  of  a  language  is  as  exclusive  in  its 
requirements  as  pure  and  undefiled  religion.  "  You  can 
not  serve  both  God  and  mammon,"  —  you  cannot  write 
both  English  and  German,  not  at  least  with  that  perfect 
mastery  of  both  which  makes  a  Shakespeare  or  a  Goethe. 
I  have  often  wondered  why  the  ancients  have  conveyed 
to  us  so  little  particular  information  on  other  languages 
than  their  own.  They  must  have  learned  other  lan 
guages,  as  necessary  for  communication  with  the  nations 
they  conquered  or  traded  with.  History  tells  us  of  the 
wonderful  acquirements  and  capacity  of  Mithridates 
(twenty-two  languages  spoken),  Cleopatra,  and  Themis- 
tocles  (the  Persian  learned  in  a  few  days),  and  yet  we 
have  from  them  none  of  that  particular  knowledge  of  for- 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A   LINGUIST.  335 

eign  languages  which  forms  so  large  a  portion  of  modern 
literature.  We  might  say  the  organ  of  language  has  in 
creased  with  us,  or  rather  has  become  lobulate  [diffused], 
turning  our  minds  towards  many,  whereas  theirs  were 
concentrated  on  one.  The  truth  is,  with  them  the  culti 
vation  and  perfection  of  their  own  language  was  every 
thing,  the  acquisition  of  other  languages  of  importance 
only  as  far  as  necessary  and  convenient.  Other  lan 
guages  were  barbarous  and  contemned,  —  theirs  was 
divine  and  worthy  of  all  their  attention.  Hence  the  per 
fection  of  their  writers ;  and  that,  too,  in  languages  of 
vastly  more  artificial  and  complex  structure  than  ours.  I 
would  thus  speak  and  write  (I  say  this  merely  as  an 
author)  only  my  own  mother  tongue.  No  matter  how 
many  languages  are  learned  analytically  (the  more  the 
better),  but  let  them  all  be  studied  with  reference  to  the 
mother  tongue  (die  heilege  Mutter  sprache),  let  the  main 
purpose  be  to  develop  and  enrich  that.  Goethe  said  he 
had  learned  one  art,  Deutsch  Zur  schreiben,  and  as  a  liter 
ary  artist  that  was  enough.  So  for  me,  I  would  say,  it  is 
enough  to  write  English ;  and  yet,  for  convenience  with 
himself  or  his  friends,  an  author  may  sometimes  use  an 
other  language  to  express,  though  imperfectly,  what,  from 
the  foreign  character  of  the  subject,  he  would  express  still 
more  inefficiently  in  his  mother  tongue.  If  one,  as  a  phi 
losopher  or  savant,  has  studied  German  philosophy,  and 
has  entered  into  its  spirit,  he  may  find  it  quite  easy  to 
express  his  thoughts  and  feelings ;  for  I  imagine  that  is  as 
much  a  Gefuhl-system  as  a  mere  matter  of  intellect ;  and 
if  one  looks  at  it  only  with  a  dry  verstandig  eye,  and  has 
not  yet  felt  himself  overshadowed  by  the  solemn  majesty 
of  the  Vernunst  (I  speak  reverently),  he  will  find  himself 
in  the  position  of  a  certain  sneerer  not  far  from  you  turn- 


336  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XVI. 

ing  his  arrows  on  himself,  —  he  may  find  it  easy  to  ex 
press  his  thoughts  and  feelings  in  his  bad  German,  when 
it  would  be  nearly  impossible  to  put  them  down  in  English. 
We  want  the  words,  or  the  uses  of  words,  necessary.  So 
too  with  my  Epigrammes  Poirennes.  I  might  do  them 
better  with  bad  French  than  I  could  possibly  with  English. 
But  such  things  should  be  inter  nos. 

I  said  above,  no  matter  how  many  languages  one  learns 
analytically  (the  more  the  better).  In  my  view,  the 
Benefit  of  proper  analytical  study  of  other  languages  is  one 
study  aud  of  the  best  means  of  giving  copiousness  and 

his  own 

experience,  richness  to  one  s  own.  Let  care  be  taken  to  put 
everything  in  genuine  English,  which  will  come  the  nat 
ural  way,  from  good  conversation  and  reading,  and,  as  the 
only  vehicle  of  thought,  will,  like  a  snowball,  be  constantly 
rolling  itself  up  by  inflection,  —  let  the  exact  nicest  shades 
of  meaning  be  gathered  from  analysis,  and  let  these 
shades  be  embodied  in  our  own  idioms,  —  and  one  will 
come  out  from  such  a  reading  of  Homer,  for  instance, 
with  a  world  of  English  conquered.  So  I  practised  in 
reading  Homer ;  and  if  I  have  truly  possessed  any  free 
dom  and  copiousness  of  diction,  as  has  been  allowed  me, 
I  believe  I  am  as  much  indebted  for  it  to  such  a  mode  of 
studying  language  as  to  any  other  cause. 

I  have  practised  classifying  translation,  according  to 
Translation  its  different  degrees  of  clearness  and  freedom : 
classified.  j  -^  merejy  ver^um  ver^  but  pars  parti,  an 
alyzing  the  words,  and  giving  in  good  old  Saxon  English — 
for  most  of  our  most  radical  words  are  such  —  the  separate 
meaning  of  each  element  of  the  word,  e.  g.  aSmX* ITTTOS,  — 
unintermittent,  continual,  not  between  leaving,  —  not  leav 
ing  off  or  ceasing  in  any  point  of  time  between  (that  be 
fore  and  that  behind  it),  i.  e.  any  interesting  point,  any 


^SJ          CONFESSIONS  OF  A   LINGUIST.  337 

moment  in  the  progress  of  time ;  2.  Verbum  verbo  in  the 
order  of  the  original ;  3.  Do.  in  what  we  would  call  in 
verted  order  or  poetical  diction ;  4.  Do.  in  plain,  direct 
English  order ;  5.  All  foreign  idioms  converted  into  Eng 
lish  as  closely  as  possible ;  6.  Freely,  but  without  embel 
lishment  or  paraphrase  ;  7.  Such  embellishment  added  as 
is  naturally  connected  with  or  suggested  by  the  letter  of 
the  original ;  8.  Full  paraphrase,  and  doubtless  many 
other  modifications.  I  have  frequently  practised  such 
variety  of  rendering  in  peculiarly  striking  passages,  and 
have  been  surprised  at  the  multitude  of  expressions  that 
would  throng  into  my  mind  during  such  an  exercise.  All 
this,  though  it  may  render  you  master  of  the  sense  of  the 
original,  and  rich  in  the  uses  of  your  own  language,  does 
not  aid  you  at  all,  I  think,  in  the  composition  of  the  lan 
guage  so  studied,  but  rather  the  reverse.  You  look  at  it 
in  its  separated  elements,  not  in  its  combinations  and  ad 
justments. 

My  object  in  studying  languages*  has  been  mainly  two 
fold  :  to  understand  them  analytically,  so  as  to  His  object  in 

,    ,       ,  -11  c     '  •          studying  Ian- 

catch  the  precise  shades  of  meaning,  particu-  guages. 
larly  in  all  works  of  genius  (vernimstige  Werlce),  and  to 
learn  their  philological  (etymological)  relations  and  affini 
ties.  This  last,  as  I  observed  to  you,  was  what  first  inter 
ested  me  especially  in  the  study  of  languages,  and  I  have 
never  lost  that  interest.  The  other  point  has  rendered 
all  poetical,  and,  I  might  say,  oratorical  and  philosophical 
translations  comparatively  indifferent  to  me.  Some  such 
translations  may  be  splendid  works  in  themselves,  —  not, 
however,  as  translations,  but  original.  Such  may  be  said 
of  Pope's  Homer  and  Sotheby's  Oberon ;  but  Pope's 
Homer,  "  though  rich,  spirited,  and  elegant,"  is  not  the 

*  Appendix  G. 
15  V 


338  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XVI. 

strong,  majestic,  simple,  eindringenel  original ;  nor  is  the 
polished,  mellifluous,  but  uniform  English  Oberon  the  free, 
flexible,  and  various  German  original,  —  the  tone  and 
movement  is  wholly  different.  Had  there  been  no  Ari- 
osto,  I  would  have  called  the  Oberon  the  prototype  of 
Don  Juan. 

I  will  here  make  a  few  remarks  on  a  subject  that  was 
states  the      started  in  conversation  when  I  was  with  you  last. 

languages  he  J 

has  read.  You  asked  me  what  languages  I  had  read.  I 
first  repeated  the  languages  in  which  I  had  read,  but  re 
marked  that  I  had  done  so  in  connection  with  my  study 
of  German  philology;  I  did  not  profess  to  read  them 
readily.  I  then  said  that  I  read  the  Roman  and  Ger 
manic  languages  with  some  ease,  but  particularly  so 
Italian,  French,  and  German.  Such  is  the  fact ;  and  to 
avoid  misstatements,  I  will  now  say  that,  besides  Greek 
and  Latin,  I  have  studied  most  particularly  Italian,  French, 
and  German;  in  the  next  class,  Spanish,  Portuguese, 
Dutch,  Danish,  and  Swedish,  and  that  comparatively  in 
the  order  here  given.  I  have  been  over  the  grammars 
of  many  other  languages,  and  have  read  and  translated 
them  more  or  less  analytically.  I  have  studied  the  Mith- 
ridates,  and  for  several  years  have  read  what  I  have  met 
on  the  subject  of  the  affinities  of  languages  with  interest. 
To  some  extent  I  have  pursued  comparative  etymology. 
All  this  I  have  done,  I  may  say  truly,  from  the  love  of 
the  pursuit,  not  for  public  display.  I  am  conscious  that 
I  must  look  to  pursuits  of  a  very  different  character  for 
such  compensation  as  every  one  needs.  I  do  not  embrace 
in  my  view  belles-lettres  (poetry) ;  that  I  know  is 
ground  that  profit  forbids  me  to  tread  on.  Mais  n'im- 
porte.  Do,  and  one  will  be  occupied,  and  therefore  not 
unhappy 


THE    BASQUE.  339 

You  will  oblige  me  by  reporting  on  my  German  and 
other  verses,  and  on  this  letter  if  you  choose. 
Yours  truly, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 
GEORGE  TICKNOK. 

In  the  omitted  portion  of  this  letter  he  speaks  of  the 
Basque,  of  which  he  was  then  "a  three  days'  scholar," 
stating  briefly  "  what  appear  to  me  to  be  the  great  princi 
ples  of  the  language."  These  were:  "1.  The  Principles  of 

the  Basque 

language  is  polysynthetic  and  post-positive.  2.  language. 
There  is  no  distinction  of  gender.  3.  The  noun,  substan 
tive  or  adjective,  is  in  itself  uninflected.  4.  The  distinc 
tions  of  case  or  number  are  marked  by  the  article  post- 
fixed.  5.  The  article  is  inflected  in  number  and  case  by 
postfixes,  some  of  them  significant  particles.  6.  The 
adjective  is  placed  after  the  noun,  and  the  article  thus 
postfixed  to  the  adjectives.  7.  The  personal  demonstra 
tive  pronouns  and  the  cardinal  numerals  have  postfixed 
inflections  nearly  like  those  of  the  article.  The  posses 
sive  pronouns  and  ordinals  are  declined  with  the  article 
like  nouns.  8.  The  verb  is  conjugated  by  polysynthetic 
substantive  postfixes,  variable  in  number,  person,  tense, 
mood,  and  conjugation,  and  including  the  subject,  the  di 
rect  and  transitive  or  relative  object,  and  some  other 
modes  of  action.  9.  The  principal  verb,  in  all  the  forms 
of  the  verb,  is  used  only  in  the  infinitive ;  of  this  there 
are  eleven  forms ;  this  infinitive  always  stands  first,  and 
in  any  particular  form  is  uninflected.  10.  Other  modifi 
cations  of  the  verb  are  determined  by  the  substantive 
postfix,  which  is  the  substantive  verb  (infinitive),  vari 
ously  inflected  by  affixes  pro  and  post,  according  to  the 
genius  of  the  language.  These  postfixes  are  very  various, 


340 


JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XVI. 


and  determine  the  numbers  and  persons,  in  part  the 
tenses,  the  moods,  and  the  conjugations,  which,  like  the 
Hebrew  conjugations,  are  rather  modifications  of  being  or 
acting  than  varieties  of  inflection,  as  in  the  Greek  and 
Latin  conjugations. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


1834-1842. 

GEOLOGICAL  EXCURSIONS.  —  REMINISCENCES  OF  PROFESSOR  TICK- 
NOR.  —  AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST.  —  His  PECUNIARY  TROUBLES.  — 
RELIEVED  BY  A  LOAN.  —  REMINISCENCES  OF  MR.  MONSON.  — 
STEPS  TO  THE  GEOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  CONNECTICUT.  —  His  OWN 
HISTORY  OF  THE  SURVEY.  —  How  THE  REPORT  WAS  COMPLETED 
AND  RECEIVED.  —  A  LETTER  TO  SlR  CHARLES  LYELL.  —  REMARKS 
IN  THE  JOURNAL  OF  SCIENCE. 


tf  the  summer  of  this  year  he  made  several 
geological  excursions  "  in  exploring  Geological 
the  trap  of  the  two  secondary  ba-  excursions- 
sins  of  the  State  "  and  also  in  "  examining  with 
some    minuteness    the   primitive   district   between   New 
Haven  and  the  Housatonic." 

In  November  he  went  to  Boston  to  adjust  his  claim 
against  Mr.  Walker  for  editing  Malte-Brun,  and  The  end  of 
to  make  some  final  corrections  to  the  edition.  Malte'Brun- 
He  was  in  pressing  want  of  the  money  to  pay  a  note  of 
several  years'  standing,  for  books  which  he  had  bought 
of  General  Howe ;  and  Professor  Ticknor,  at  whose  house 
he  was  a  welcome  guest,  advised  him  to  sell  his  claim, 
but  unfortunately  he  did  not,  and  soon  after  Mr.  Walker 
failed  in  business,  involving  Percival  in  unexpected  diffi 
culty  and  loss.  Dr.  Hayward  and  Professor  Ticknor 
were  then  anxious  that  he  should  start  a  paper  suddenly 
of  his  own,  and  remain  in  Boston.  The  follow-  diaaPPears- 


342  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XVIL 

ing  note  is  the  only  explanation  to  one  of  those  sudden 
changes  for  which  Percival  was  remarkable :  — 


Saturday  Morning  (without  date). 

SIR,— 

I  must  give  up  the  proposed  paper  and  leave  Boston. 
At  present  there  is  no  vessel  here  to  take  my  things  where 
I  wish  to  send  them,  otherwise  I  would  despatch  them 
immediately.  There  will  probably  be  one  here  in  the 
course  of  a  week.  If  you  wish  to  question  me  further, 
I  will  endeavor  to  give  you  all  the  satisfaction  I  can. 
Yours, 

J.  G.  PEKCIVAL. 
GEORGE  HAYWARD,  M.  D. 

Professor  Ticknor  tells  me  that,  while  a  guest  at  his 
Reminia-  house  in  Boston  at  this  time,  his  ways  were  pe 
culiar.  Sitting  at  the  table  opposite  to  Mrs. 
Ticknor,  he  would  converse  with  her  husband  and  some 
times  with  her  with  the  greatest  fluency,  but  with  his  eyes 
downcast  upon  the  plate,  always  avoiding  the  glance  of 
Mrs.  Ticknor's  eye ;  and  this  was  his  habit  always 
among  females.  The  same  shrinking  from  woman  was 
also  seen  in  the  drawing-room.  And  at  the  homes  of  his 
two  Boston  friends  he  was  probably  more  at  his  ease  than 
anywhere  else.  I  have  been  told  that  this  dropping  of 
the  eye  (while  he  apparently  saw  everything)  was  observ 
able  as  he  walked  the  street  wrapped  in  his  camlet  cloak, 
"  the  observed  of  all  observers."  While  on  his  Geologi 
cal  Survey  of  Connecticut,  he  was  often  obliged  to  pick 
up  a  meal  or  a  lodging  where  he  could ;  and  his  dress  was 
not  always  such  as  indicated  his  character  and  position. 
Throughout  life  he  never  polished  his  shoes,  and  his  pants 


AN    UNEXPECTED    GUEST.  343 

and  hat  generally  showed  that  they  had  been  used  the  full 
time  of  service.  Clad  in  such  a  habit  he  pre-  An  m^. 
sented  himself  one  evening  at  the  door  of  a  young  pected  guest' 
ladies'  seminary,  asking,  as  he  was  some  distance  from  the 
village,  for  supper  and  a  night's  lodging.  The  lady  prin 
cipal  met  him  at  the  door,  and  was  not  inclined  to  grant 
his  request.  He  urged  it,  however,  as  he  was  tired  and 
hungry ;  and  she  finally  yielded,  following  him  into  the 
kitchen,  and  remaining  while  he  ate  his  supper.  Observ 
ing  him  more  minutely,  she  thought  he  looked  more  intel 
ligent  than  common  beggars,  and  engaged  in  conversation 
with  him,  when  she  found  that  he  was  apparently  a  well- 
educated  man ;  and  as  the  conversation  went  on  from  one 
surprise  to  another,  she  found  that  he  could  talk  upon  a 
variety  of  subjects.  The  conversation  at  length  turned 
upon  poetry ;  and  the  lady,  after  speaking  of  other  poets, 
mentioned  Percival,  and  went  on  to  express  her  enthusi 
astic  admiration  of  his  poetry,  to  the  somewhat  startled 
yet  quiet  listener ;  when  checking  herself  she  asked,  "  Do 
you  know  Percival  ?  Have  you  read  his  poetry  ?  "  To 
which  the  stranger  replied,  in  his  gentle,  lisping  tone,  "  I 
—  am  —  Mr.  Percival,  and  I  sometimes  write  poetry." 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  he  was  generously  entertained 
that  night,  and  that  the  resources  of  his  hostess  were 
exhausted  to  do  him  honor. 

At  this  time  he  contributed,  largely  for  him,  to  the  New 
England  Magazine,  then  edited  by  Dr.  Samuel  G.  Howe. 
The  money  thus  earned  was  expended  in  foreign  books, 
and  these  were  the  aids  of  his  philological  studies. 

He  had  now  been  depending  in  part  for  two  years  upon 
money  advanced  to  him  on  the  History  of  the  United 
States,  the  writing  of  which  he  continually  delayed.  Mr. 
Nathan  Whiting  had  advanced  to  him  at  various  times  on 


344  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XVII. 

this  contract  thirteen  hundred  dollars.  At  length  he 
needed  the  money,  and  requested  him  to  pay  it  back, 
which  he  had  no  means  of  doing.  At  this  juncture,  he 
Hard  pushed  knew  not  what  to  do.  His  only  resource  was 
oney>  either  to  sacrifice  his  library  or  to  obtain  a  loan 
on  his  property  through  the  generosity  of  friends.  He 
accordingly  drew  up  the  following  paper :  — 

"  The  circumstances  in  which  I  am  placed  induce  me 
And  a  state-  to  make  an  explicit  statement  of  my  affairs,  not 
pecuniary19  without  the  hope  that  it  may  lead  to  some  ar- 
)le3'  rangement  by  which  I  may  extricate  myself 
from  embarrassment.  I  am  indebted  to  the  amount  of 
$1,500,  nearly  $  1,400  of  which  is  for  books.  I  have  an 
engagement  (the  History  of  the  United  States)  by  which 
I  can  pay  something  more  than  my  necessary  expenses. 
It  is,  however,  essential  to  me  to  raise  in  some  way  the  sum 
of  $  1,300  to  discharge  that  amount  of  my  debt.  I  have 
been  disappointed  of  the  means  of  discharging  that  sum 
by  events  over  which  I  had  no  control.  The  greater  share 
of  this  debt  I  was  partly  induced  to  incur  from  a  proposi 
tion  made  me  by  the  creditor  [Mr.  Whiting]  to  engage 
in  an  important  literary  undertaking,  a  Geography  for 
High  Schools.  After  I  had  incurred  the  obligation,  that 
project  was  abandoned.  I  was  thus  unable  to  discharge 
Failure  of  it  directly  by  my  efforts.  In  the  spring  [1832] 
efforts.  after  I  had  issued  proposals  to  my  friends  for 
an  edition  of  my  poems,  J.  Grigg,  of  Philadelphia,  pro 
posed  to  a  friend  of  mine,  S.  A.  Mitchell,  to  incorporate 
them  in  his  edition  of  the  English  poets,  for  which  he 
would  pay  me  $800.  Mr.  Mitchell  then  expected  to 
visit  New  Haven  immediately,  but  was  prevented  by  a 
long  sickness,  so  that  he  had  no  opportunity  of  seeing 
me  till  in  the  summer.  He  then  stated  the  proposal 


HIS    PECUNIARY    TROUBLES.  345 

to  me,  to  which  I  assented.  In  the  mean  while,  the 
President  vetoed  the  bill  rechartering  the  bank.  On  his 
return  to  Philadelphia,  Mr.  Mitchell  mentioned  my  ac 
ceptance  of  his  terms  to  Mr.  Grigg,  who  said  at  once  that, 
had  I  met  his  terms  at  the  time  they  were  offered,  he 
would  have  completed  the  engagement,  but  that  the  veto 
had  so  deranged  business  that  he  was  then  obliged  to  de 
cline.  Last  year,  before  the  pressure  commenced,  I  was 
invited  by  Messrs.  Fessenden  of  Brattleboro,  Vermont, 
to  edit  an  edition  of  the  British  Poets,  to  be  included 
in  from  ten  to  fifteen  volumes,  for  which  they  would 
pay  me  $  500  per  volume,  —  two  or  three  volumes 
to  be  published  annually,  —  so  that  the  undertaking,  if 
successful,  would  have  been  worth  to  me  from  $  5,000  to 
$7,500,  at  from  $1,000  to  $1,500  per  annum.  The 
agreement  was  concluded  between  us.  On  the  pressure 
arising,  the  project  was  suspended,  and  has  since  been 
abandoned. 

"  These  disappointments  have  reduced  me  to  the  alter 
native,  either  of  at  once  surrendering  my  prop-  An  escape 
erty,  or  throwing  myself  on  the  generosity  of  Jjjyoaeo* 
my  friends,  to  enable  me,  by  the  exertion  of  my  two  ways' 
talents  and  industry,  to  extricate  myself.  $  800  was  of 
fered  me  for  an  edition  of  my  poems.  If  $  600  could  be 
obtained  for  an  edition,  (for  which  I  would  allow  the  most 
reasonable  terms  as  to  time,  etc.,)  and  if  I  could  secure 
an  employment  of  $  700,  (one  that  would  reward  me 
fairly  for  my  time,)  I  could  free  myself  from  my  obli 
gations.  My  property  (all  of  which  I  have  in  my 
possession,  insured  at  $  2,500 ;  it  has  cost  me  cer 
tainly  over  $3,000)  I  would  pledge  in  any  way  that 
would  be  considered  satisfactory.  I  feel  confident  that 
if  I  could  be  put  in  the  way  of  exerting  myself  ad- 
15* 


346  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XVIL 

vantageously,  I  could  discharge  all  my  obligations  in 
at  least  two  years.  My  experience  has  taught  me  not 
to  incur  new  ones.  I  might  free  myself  by  surren 
dering  my  property ;  but  the  collection  I  have  formed  I 
am  unwilling  to  part  with,  without  trying  another  experi 
ment.  In  asking  this  aid,  I  rely  on  the  willingness  of  my 
friends  to  use  their  efforts  to  render  my  means 
(talent,  poems,  and  property)  available  to  me 
in  extricating  myself  without  a  sacrifice." 

This  proposition  met  with  favor.  Mr.  Nathaniel  Bacon 
Which  is  loaned  to  him,  to  pay  Mr.  Whiting,  twelve  hun- 
granted.  fae&  dollars,  and  twelve  gentlemen,  his  friends 
residing  in  New  Haven,  generously  became  his  personal 
sureties.  The  loan  was  made  January  9,  1835,  with  the 
understanding  that  it  was  to  be  paid  in  three  years,  his 
library  being  pledged  as  his  own  security  to  them  ;  but 
it  ran  on  till  1841,  having  in  the  mean  time  been  dimin 
ished  only  two  hundred  dollars,  when  it  was  transferred 
to  the  College,  the  same  gentlemen  continuing  his  sureties. 
His  income  had  been  precarious,  even  while  engaged  upon 
the  Geological  Survey,  and  he  had  no  means  of  discharg 
ing  his  obligations.  In  1846,  he  was  honorably  released 
from  his  contract  to  write  the  History  ;  and  the  loan  now 
transferred  from  the  College  to  the  Townsend  Savings 
Bank  in  New  Haven,  was  finally  paid  out  of  the  avails 
of  his  Wisconsin  Geological  Survey. 

To  the  earlier  part  of  this  year,  and  after  he  had  ex 
changed  his  office  in  Broadway  for  rooms  in  Chapel 
Street,  I  am  inclined  to  assign  much  that  occurs  in  the 
following  communication.  His  own  materials  for  a  bio 
graphical  record  now  become  rare,  and  I  am  chiefly  in 
debted  for  the  remainder  of  the  work  to  the  kindness  and 
sympathy  of  his  numerous  friends.  He  was  henceforth 


REMINISCENCES    OF    MR.    MONSON.        347 

less  in  contact  with  his  fellow-men.  His  literary  engage 
ments  were  few,  and  mostly  of  a  scientific  character.  He 
was  never  a  professed  correspondent ;  and  his  letters  were 
always  either  long  confidential  statements  of  his  feelings 
and  condition,  or  simply  notes  of  business.  The  following 
is  from  Mr.  Charles  Monson,  and  throws  much  light  upon 
his  occupations  at  this  time. 


TO  THE  EDITOR. 

NEW  HAVEN,  June,  1865. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

The  late  Mr.  H.  Augur  and  the  late  Mr.  E.  C.  Herrick 
were   the   eminently   worthy   and   confidential  Mr.  Augur 

»  J  and  Mr.  B. 

friends  of  Dr.  Percival ;  but  my  acquaintance  c.  Herrick. 
with  him  was,  for  the  most  part,  accidental ;  it  grew  out  of 
an  intimacy  with  Mr.  Augur,  at  whose  rooms  I  used  often 
to  meet  him.  With  Mr.  Augur,  or  with  Mr.  Herrick,  or 
with  both,  the  Doctor  was  accustomed  to  advise,  whenever 
and  from  whatever  cause  he  was  annoyed  in  his  business 
affairs.  It  may  not  be  inappropriate  here  to  mention  that 
I  had  frequent  occasion  to  observe  the  regard  and  profound 
respect  of  Mr.  Augur  for  Percival's  high  order  of  intellect, 
and  for  his  large  and  varied  acquirements ;  but  I  have  more 
than  once  noticed  his  kindly,  sympathizing  smile  in  re 
marking  upon  the  Doctor's  childlike  simplicity  and  inex 
perience  in  everything  relating  to  business  transactions. 
My  frequent  meetings  with  Mr.  Augur  at  length  brought 
me  into  some  degree  of  familiarity  with  the  Doctor ;  and 
he  sometimes  (not  frequently)  honored  me  by  a  call.  I 
found  him  not  to  be  the  very  reserved,  taciturn,  percivai  a 
and  almost  sour  individual  I  had  once  imagined  free  talker- 


348  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [CHAP.  XVII. 

him  to  be,  but,  on  the  contrary,  a  free  talker,  communica 
tive,  and  genial,  —  with  this  condition,  however,  that  you 
must  let  him  do  the  talking,  and  (when  he  was  in  the 
mood)  pretty  much  all  of  it.  It  was  well  to  regard  this 
condition,  both  because  it  was  worth  while  to  hear  him, 
and  because  it  was  useless  to  have  much  to  say  till  he 
had  fairly  ceased. 

Percival  once  had  rooms  in  the  upper  story  of  our 
State  Hospital.  That  building,  not  as  now,  was  then 
almost  unoccupied,  except  by  the  housekeeper  or  janitor 
who  took  care  of  the  grounds.  I  called  there  on  him 
several  times,  inquiring  for  information  on  some  subject 
involving  science,  in  which  I  was  uninformed.  Passing 
The  entrance  UP  two  flights  of  stairs,  I  would  find  his  entry 

to  his  study.    doQr  tied  by  a  r()pe  at  the  knobj  and  thus  fagtened 

on  the  inside.  A  slight  rap  would  always  bring  him  to 
the  door.  He  would  untie  the  rope,  receive  me  pleas 
antly,  and  converse,  standing  in  the  entry,  no  matter  how 
long ;  but  it  was  not  his  practice  to  ask  a  visitor  in. 

There  are  men,  I  suppose,  with  whom  fame  is  about 
the  only  immortality  which  they  have  very  much  faith  in. 
I  do  not  like  to  believe  that  Percival  was  one  of  those.  I 
think  that  he  desired  to  be  remembered,  that  he  was  not 
insensible  to  the  motive  of  fame.  But  I  am  sure  that  he 
had  very  little,  perhaps  none,  of  that  common  vanity  which 
feeds  on  admiration,  and'  makes  one  delighted  in  being 
pointed  out  and  shown  up  to  stupid  starers.  A 

A  story. 

stranger,  a  showy  gentleman  with  extra  airs,  had 
been  escorting  some  ladies,  on  a  summer  day,  through  the 
Hospital  grounds,  and  then  called  on  the  janitor,  remarking 
that  he  understood  the  poet  Percival  was  occupying  rooms 
in  the  upper  story  of  the  building,  and  that  he  would  be 
extremely  gratified  to  be  shown  the  way  up.  The  janitor 


*Jt40.]       REMINISCENCES   OF   MR.   MONSON.  349 

went  with  the  stranger  to  the  foot  of  the  second  flight  of 
stairs,  pointed  to  the  door,  and  awaited  the  reception. 
The  gentleman's  signal-knock  was  answered  by  the  foot 
steps  of  the  Doctor,  who  unloosened  the  fastening,  and  on 
opening  the  door,  beheld  the  stranger  and  a  lady  on  each 
arm.  "  I  am  extremely  happy,"  said  the  eloquent  intrud 
er,  in  a  measured  and  pompous  accent,  —  "I  am  extremely 
happy  and  rejoiced  that  I  have  the  honor  of  addressing  the 
poet  Percival."  "  Boo"  responded  the  Doctor,  instantly 
shutting  the  door,  readjusting  the  fastening,  and  retiring  to 
his  room.  This  anecdote  was  not  related  by  the  Doctor, 
nor  was  it  ever  referred  to  by  himself  that  I  know  of. 

I  once  called  on  Percival  to  show  him  specimens  of 
some  iron  ore,  which  I  had  broken  out  of  what  An  excur. 
seemed  a  small  vein  in  one  of  the  island  rocks  Slon> 
near  to  shore,  a  few  miles  from  New  Haven.  He  suggested 
going  with  me  to  the  locality,  —  a  suggestion  which  I  was 
glad  to  accept ;  and  as  we  might  get  tired  of  one  thing,  I 
proposed  to  take  fishing  gear  with  us,  it  being  in  the  black- 
fishing  season.  I  think  it  was  his  first  fishing  adventure. 
After  looking  around  and  hammering  a  little,  we  sat  upon 
the  rocks  and  cast  in  our  lines.  We  had  a  pretty  good 
time,  taking  it  altogether,  and  captured  fifty -five  blackfish, 
—  one  of  us  twenty-seven,  the  other  twenty-eight.  To 
ward  evening,  rowing  ourselves  ashore,  we  had  a  spare 
hour  to  wait  for  the  cars,  and  to  have  a  rambling  talk  and 
to  get  supper  at  the  hotel.  "  I  have  heard  the  remark," 
said  I  to  the  Doctor,  "  that  you,  of  all  the  men  Hls  Opinion 
in  America,  are  the  man  to  make  our  English  JicTionary a 
Dictionary."  I  do  not  remember  precisely  his  himself- 
reply.  It  was  modest,  but  I  know  that  the  impression 
made  by  it  on  my  mind  was  such  as  to  assure  me  that  he 
had  sufficient  faith  in  his  own  ability  to  excel  in  such  an 


350  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XVII. 

enterprise,  and  that  he  thought  there  was  room  enough 
for  improvement ;  and  I  suggested  the  question  whether 
it  were  not  worth  his  while  to  take  up  the  task  as  a 
life-work.  He  replied  by  referring  to  the  certain  hos 
tility  of  rival  interests,  which  he  felt  that  he  could  not  en 
counter  without  sacrificing  the  peace  and  quiet  of  his  life. 
As  we  returned  from  our  excursion,  it  became  quite  a 
puzzle  to  the  Doctor  what  to  do  with  our  game,  —  the  fish 
we  had  caught.  So  stopping  at  a  fish-shop,  he  had  two 
of  them  dressed  for  himself,  which  he  took  home  to  his 
bachelor's  hall,  and  the  rest  I  sold  to  the  dealer  for  cash, 
for  mutual  benefit,  and  thus  ended  the  adventure. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  subject  of  music  seemed 
entirely  to  occupy  the  Doctor's  thoughts.  Very  likely 
you  may  know  more  about  this  than  I  do.  I  know  that 
he  was  inquisitive  about  old  books  containing  musical  notes 
of  bygone  days,  or  of  distant  lands,  —  that  he  delighted 
to  pick  up,  and  to  touch  off,  ancient  and  rare  little  musical 
airs ;  and  that  he  sometimes  carried  an  accordion  under 
his  old  blue  camlet  cloak.  I  met  him  one  day  in  Mr.  Au- 
Becomes  a  gur's  room  thus  equipped ;  and,  as  soon  as  it 
musician.  seemed  to  be  convenient,  he  introduced  his  then 
favorite  topic,  and  proposed  giving  a  touch  of  an  old  air 
which  he  had  lately  found.  Drawing  out  his  accordion,  he 
leaned  forward  in  the  attitude  and  with  the  movements  as 
if  he  were  playing,  his  throat  at  the  same  time  swelling  as 
in  singing,  —  but  the  motions  were  all.  We  were  attracted 
by  his  intense  expression,  his  sharp  face,  and  delighted 
look,  when  he  suddenly  turned  and  asked  how  we  liked  it. 
Mr.  Augur  smiled,  and  I  exclaimed,  "Ha !  ha !  why,  Doc 
tor,  you  have  not  uttered  the  first  sound."  "Why!  did  n't 
you  hear  it  ? "  said  he.  The  Doctor  heard  it  undoubt 
edly  ;  but  it  was  only  by  the  ear  of  his  imagination. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  MR.  MONSON.          351 

When  he  undertook  his  Geological  Survey  of  Con 
necticut,  he  was  not  at  first  the  recipient  of  very  polite 
attentions  in  the  rural  districts  where  he  was  Experiences 
not  known.  But  the  farmers  after  a  while  found  survey. 
him  out,  and  though  among  themselves  they  called  him 
"  the  old  rock-smasher,"  he  gradually  won  a  respect  which 
his  first  appearance  did  not  always  inspire.  The  keeper 
of  a  country  inn,  as  I  have  been  told,  once  mistaking  him 
for  some  eccentric  vagrant,  accosted  him  harshly ;  but  as 
the  Doctor  was  leaving  his  door,  a  distinguished  citizen 
from  a  neighboring  town  drove  up,  alighted  from  his  car 
riage,  and  grasped  the  Doctor's  hand  with  all  possible 
expressions  of  cordiality  and  respect.  The  astonished 
landlord,  seeing  that  he  had  made  a  particular  blunder, 

felt  chagrined,  and,  apologizing,  retired 

CHARLES  MONSON. 

Considerable  interest  had  now  been  excited  in  this 
country  in  regard  to  Geology,  and  it  soon  became  the  am 
bition  of  each  State  to  have  investigations  made  The  interest 
by  scientific  gentlemen  into  its  sources  of  min-  m 
eral  wealth.  The  interest  which  the  elder  Silliman  had 
awakened  in  such  pursuits  at  Yale  had  spread  to  other 
and  similar  institutions,  each  of  which  now  had  its  pro 
fessor  in  some  department  of  Natural  History.  At  Am- 
herst  College,  the  late  Edward  Hitchcock  had  already 
become  eminent  as  a  scientific  explorer,  and  as  early  as 
1830  had  been  appointed  by  the  Legislature  to  make  a 
geological  survey  of  the  State  of  Massachusetts.  In 
1832  he  published  his  first  Report  on  the  Economic  Geol 
ogy  of  that  State ;  and,  in  1833,  a  second  Report  on  its 
Geology,  Zoology,  and  Botany.  These  Reports  turned  the 
attention  of  each  State  to  its  own  physical  resources,  and 


352  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XVII. 

initiated  those  general  and  expensive  surveys  which  have 
st«ps  to  the  done  so  much  in  our  own  country  to  advance 

survey  of 

Connecticut,  the  interests  or  science  and  to  develop  inter 
nal  wealth.  The  Connecticut  Legislature,  composed  like 
most  of  our  State  Legislatures,  very  much  of  practical 
workingmen,  farmers,  and  others  from  the  country, 
wished  to  know  the  geological  resources  of  the  State.  In 
May,  1835,  an  appropriation  was  made  for  this  object,  and 
Percival  shortly  after  Dr.  Percival  and  Professor  Charles 
geologist.  W.  Shepard  were  appointed  by  Governor  Ed 
wards  for  the  work.  The  Legislature  unfortunately  ex 
pected  only  a  superficial  examination,  —  at  least,  a  very 
brief,  practical  report  of  the  available  mineral  resources. 
They  only  cared  how  they  might  render  more  valuable 
the  various  mines  and  quarries.  Few  of  them  knew  any 
thing  about  geology,  or  had  any  sympathy  in  promoting 
the  interests  of  science ;  and  Percival  was  the  last  man 
to  perform  satisfactorily  such  superficial  work.  Professor 
Shepard  took  the  mineralogical  department  of  the  sur 
vey,  and  after  a  few  months'  travel  made  an  octavo  Report 
of  two  hundred  pages,  which  met  every  requirement. 
Percival's  department  was  the  geological ;  and 

His  duties. 

he  was  engaged  upon  it  five  weary  and  labori 
ous  years  ;  each  year  rendering  his  researches  more  and 
more  minute,  until  he  had  collected  eight  thousand  speci 
mens,  and  had  made  records  of  dips  and  bearings  still 
more  numerous.  The  task  was  developing  before  his 
truly  scientific  method  into  the  work  of  a  lifetime.  Of 
this  method  he  remarks,  in  one  of  the  brief  yearly  Reports 
is  guided  by  which  he  was  obliged  to  make  to  satisfy  the  de- 

the  authority  .   . 

of  nature,  mands  of  legislators,  who  grew  uneasy  in  waiting 
so  long  for  practical  results :  "  I  have  endeavored  to  be 
guided  by  no  other  authority  than  nature  ;  not  that  I  in 


GEOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  CONNECTICUT.  353 

the  least  disregarded  or  undervalued  the  labors  of  those 
who  had  preceded  me,  but  because  I  was  satisfied  that  my 
only  chance  for  determining  the  system  was  to  confine 
myself  solely  to  the  objects  under  investigation,  and  to 
endeavor  to  trace  my  way  through  by  the  most  careful 
examination  and  comparison  of  them.  That  I  have  done 
so,  I  can  say  with  confidence,  though  much  of  the  time 
under  circumstances  entremely  unfavorable  and  discourag 
ing."  Of  such  a  carefully  conducted  investigation,  which 
would  ultimately  be  of  the  highest  value  to  the  economic 
interests  of  the  State,  as  well  as  a  lasting  monument  to 
its  liberal  enterprise  in  encouraging  scientific  studies,  the 
sturdy  men  who  made  the  laws  of  Connecticut  in  those 
days  had  no  conception.  The  chief  executive  Governor 
of  the  State  had  so  low  an  opinion  of  the  value  ^Sfof8 
of  Percival's  labors  during  the  latter  and  trying  him> 
period  of  the  survey,  while  he  was  suffering  from  the 
want  of  appropriations  to  enable  him  to  conduct  the  work 
in  a  suitable  manner,  as  to  call  him  playfully  "  a  literary 
loafer";  and  such  encouragement  from  such  a  source 
paralyzed  his  efforts  to  obtain  sufficient  grants  of  money 
to  properly  prosecute  his  labors,  though  there  is  every 
evidence  in  the  correspondence  between  him  and  Percival 
that  the  Governor  tried  honestly  to  discharge  his  duty  to 
the  State.  The  trouble  was,  he  did  not  understand  Per 
cival,  and  knew  little  about  his  difficult  and  embarrassing 
circumstances.  At  this  juncture,  when  without  an  appro 
priation  from  the  State  or  a  loan  from  private  individuals 
he  felt  that  he  could  not  go  on,  his  friend,  the  Honorable 
Aaron  N.  Skinner,  the  first  and  the  foremost  in  every 
good  work,  came  to  his  rescue,  and  advised  him  to  ad 
dress  a  letter  immediately  to  the  Honorable  R.  S.  Bald 
win,  who  was  a  member  of  the  Legislature,  detailing  the 


354  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [CHAP.  XVII. 

history  of  the  survey  and  explaining  its  present  condition. 
He  complied  with  Mr.  Skinner's  request,  and  wrote  the 
following  about  May  20,  1841:  — 


TO  ROGER  SHERMAN  BALDWIN. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

At  your  request,  communicated  to  me  through  the 
Letter  to  Mr.  Honorable  Mr.  Skinner  of  the  Senate,  I  have 
i"n'  prepared  the  following  statement  of  my  connec 
tion  with  the  Geological  Survey  of  the  State.  The  first 
appropriation  (one  thousand  dollars)  was  made  in  1835, 
under  the  auspices  of  Governor  Edwards.  But  the  year 
previous  (1834)  I  employed  nearly  five  months  in  ex 
ploring  the  trap  connected  with  the  secondary  of  the 
State,  on  my  own  account  and  at  my  own  expense.  This 
was  an  important  and  essential  part  of  the  survey.  The 
results  I  communicated  to  the  Connecticut  Academy,  at 
the  house  of  Mr.  Skinner,  soon  after  I  had  completed  that 
Sent ugan6"  exPloration-  Before  the  meeting  of  the  Legis- 
the  survey,  lature  in  1835,  Governor  Edwards  consulted 
me  with  regard  to  his  proposed  plan  of  survey.  I  then 
declined  engaging  in  it,  as  I  had  literary  engagements 
which  I  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  withdraw  from,  and  which 
promised  me  a  remuneration  which  I  needed.  I  recom 
mended  him  to  intrust  the  survey  to  the  charge  of  Pro 
fessor  Silliman,  and  also  to  procure  the  services  of  Profes 
sor  Shepard.  Governor  Edwards  recommended  the 
survey  to  the  Legislature,  and  obtained  an  appropriation 
of  one  thousand  dollars.  I  have  been  informed  by  two 
members  of  the  committee  (Colonel  White  of  Danbury, 
and  the  late  Mr.  Sheldon  Clark  of  Oxford)  that  they 


GEOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  CONNECTICUT.  355 

considered  this  a  very  inadequate  sum  for  accomplishing 
the  survey,  but  that  they  did  not  think  it  advisable  to  urge 
a  larger  sum  at  first.  Both  of  them  observed  to  me  that 
I  must  carry  on  the  survey  in  the  best  manner  I  could  to 
its  completion,  and  look  to  successive  Legislatures  for 
support.  Governor  Edwards  having  obtained  an  appro 
priation,  offered  the  charge  of  the  survey  to  Professor 

J  Silliman  de- 

Professor  Silliman.  He  declined  it  in  a  man-  cimes  it. 
ner  offensive  to  the  feelings  of  Governor  Edwards,  and 
besides  informed  him  that  he  need  not  apply  to  Profes-or 
Shepard,  as  he  was  better  employed.  Governor  Ed 
wards  then  applied  to  me.  I  again  declined,  on  account 
of  my  literary  engagements,  but  offered  to  use  my  en 
deavors  to  procure  the  services  of  Professor  Shepard. 
I  called  upon  him  and  he  expressed  his  readi-  Professor 
ness  to  undertake  the  mineralogical  if  I  would  ^3j  to 
undertake  the  geological  department,  —  other- go  Wlth  hun' 
wise  he  entirely  refused  to  engage  in  the  survey.  I 
yielded  to  his  and  Governor  Edwards's  requests,  and  hav 
ing  procured  a  release  from  my  literary  engagements, 
devoted  myself  to  the  prosecution  of  the  survey.  The 
one  thousand  dollars  was  divided  equally  between  us : 
two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  was  advanced  to  each  for 
expenses;  the  remaining  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
paid  at  the  end  of  the  year.  I  travelled  that  The  survey 
season  with  Professor  Shepard  four  months  be£un- 
(July  to  October  inclusive),  and  then  through  the  month 
of  November  alone,  making  five  months  of  exploration 
that  year.  While  in  company  we  visited  every  town  and 
every  parish  in  the  State  but  one  or  two,  and  directed 
our  attention  particularly  to  subjects  of  economical  inter 
est  (mines  worked  or  abandoned,  and  quarries).  "We  trav 
elled  necessarily  BO  rapidly  that  I  could  only  make  a  very 


356  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [CHAP.  XVII. 

hasty  reconnoissance  of  the  geology  of  the  State  prepara 
tory  to  a  proper  survey.  To  supply  deficiencies,  I  trav 
elled  an  additional  month  both  in  the  eastern  and  west 
ern  parts  of  the  State,  after  Mr.  Shepard  had  gone  on 
his  duties  as  professor  at  Charleston.  I  prepared  for  the 
Makes  an  next  Legislature  (that  of  1836)  an  outline  Re- 

outline  o  \  / 

Report.  port  of  the  geology  of  the  State,  as  far  as  my 
materials  then  allowed,  accompanied  with  a  geological 
map  of  the  State,  and  also  a  more  minute  Report  of  the 
geology  of  the  southeast  part  of  the  western  primary 
section,  as  a  specimen  of  the  manner  in  which  I  aimed  at 
completing  the  survey.  We  suggested  to  the  Legislature 
the  propriety  of  continuing  the  survey  another  year,  with 
an  appropriation  more  correspondent  to  the  allowance 
made  to  surveyors  in  other  States.  Our  suggestion  was 
accepted,  and  an  appropriation  was  made  (1836)  of  two 
thousand  dollars,  to  be  equally  divided  between  us.  Pre 
vious  to  this,  during  the  winter  of  1835-36,  a  very  large 
appropriation  was  made  for  a  geological  survey  by  the 
invited  to  Legislature  of  New  York.  I  was  invited,  be- 
fhe<NPewt  m  f°re  tne  meeting  of  our  Legislature,  by  a  friend 
York  survey.  who  jja(j  conferre(j  wjtn  Governor  Marcy,  to 

offer  myself  for  a  place  in  that  survey,  with  an  assurance 
that  my  claim  would  be  favorably  received.  I  declined 
the  offer,  as  I  was  unwilling  to  withdraw  from  the  survey 
of  my  own  State,  while  so  incomplete  as  I  then  consid 
ered  it.  The  compensation  in  New  York  was  liberal 
beyond  anything  I  could  expect  here. 

The  appropriation  of  1836  was  disposed  of  in  the 
same  manner  as  the  preceding,  —  one  thousand  dollars 
was  allotted  to  me,  five  hundred  dollars  advanced  for  ex 
penses.  I  had  found  my  objects  the  former  year  so  differ 
ent  from  Professor  Shepard's,  that  I  considered  it  im- 


GEOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  CONNECTICUT.  357 

portant  that  I  should  travel  by  myself.  I  intended  to 
travel  on  foot ;  but  I  was  instructed  by  Governor  Has  to  travel 
Edwards  to  travel  with  a  horse  for  greater  expe-  Wlt  a  or8e' 
dition,  as  he  was  desirous  that  I  should  complete  my  ex 
ploration,  if  possible,  by  November.  I  yielded  on  this 
point,  much  to  my  disadvantage,  as  it  considerably  more 
than  doubled  my  expenses,  and  rendered  it  impossible  to 
prosecute  my  survey  with  the  regularity  I  intended.  I 
now  commenced  a  plan  of  survey  across  the  nis  pian  Of 
State  from  east  to  west,  but  my  horse  pre- survey- 
vented  me  from  following  them  with  the  same  regularity 
I  could  have  done  on  foot.  I  adhered  to  them,  however, 
as  nearly  as  I  could.  This  year  I  made  them  at  average 
intervals  of  four  miles.  I  began  the  plan  of  completing 
my  explorations,  agreeably  to  instructions,  by  November ; 
but  I  soon  found  that  more  time  was  necessary  to  render 
my  survey  at  all  satisfactory.  I  therefore  slackened  my 
pace,  and  did  not  complete  my  exploration  till  January. 
During  this  time  I  lost  only  one  or  two  week-days. 
When  I  had  completed  travelling,  the  five  hundred  dollars 
allowed  me  was  exhausted  in  expenses.  I  then  applied 
to  Governor  Edwards,  and  on  due  consideration  he  made 
me  a  further  advance  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 
I  then  applied  myself  closely  to  a  minute  examination  of 
the  materials  I  had  now  collected.  This  examination  I 
did  not  complete  by  the  meeting  of  the  Legislature  in 
1837.  I  made  a  written  statement  of  what  I  had  done 
for  the  survey,  of  what  remained  to  be  done  before  pre 
paring  a  Report,  and  also  suggested  that,  in  my  opinion,  a 
re-exploration  of  the  State,  on  a  plan  at  least  as  extensive 
as  that  of  the  former  year,  was  very  important  for  a  sat 
isfactory  completion  of  the  survey.  I  had  spent  the 
whole  year  exclusively  devoted  to  the  survey,  whereas 


358  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XVII. 

Professor  Shepard  had  travelled  but  four  months  (I 
Notrea(lyforhad  travelled  seven),  and  spent  in  the  whole  not 
a  Report.  more  than  six  months  in  the  duties  of  the 
survey.  I  had  much  to  do  before  I  could  complete  a 
Report. 

Influenced  by  these  considerations,  the  committee  rec 
ommended  an  appropriation  of  five  hundred  dollars,  as 
an  additional  compensation  for  my  services  during  the 
past  year,  payable  on  the  completion  of  the  Report ;  and, 
agreeably  to  my  suggestion,  a  further  appropriation  of 
fifteen  hundred  dollars  for  the  completion  of  the  survey. 
The  appropriations  thus  proposed  were  made  by  the 
Legislature.  You  were  then  a  member  of  the  Senate. 
At  work  on  I  continued  the  examination  of  my  materials 

his  mate 
rials,  during  the  summer  of  1837;  and  after  I  had 

completed  it,  I  spent  a  few  weeks  as  a  relaxation  from  long 
and  close  confinement,  in  further  examination  of  particu 
lar  objects  connected  with  the  survey.  I  then  applied 
myself  to  the  composition  of  a  Report,  which  I  completed 
and  presented  to  Governor  Edwards  on  the  1st  of  Jan 
uary,  1838.  This  Report,  it  was  understood,  should  not 
be  published ;  and  I  prepared  it  with  that  intention.  I 
calculated  that  it  would  extend  to  more  than  four  hundred 
printed  8vo  pages.  I  intended  it  as  a  minute  and  syste 
matic  digest  of  the  materials  I  had  then  collected,  which 
Writes  a  I  might  use  myself  in  preparing  rny  final  Report, 
Report.  after  I  had  completed  my  resurvey  of  the  State, 
and  which,  in  case  of  my  death  or  disability,  might  be  used 
by  others,  so  that  the  money  expended  and  my  own  labor 
might  not  be  lost.  After  the  Legislature  had  risen,  Gov 
ernor  Edwards  made  a  further  advance  to  me  from  the 
appropriation  of  1836,  and  informed  me  that  the  whole 
of  the  balance  of  that  appropriation  was  at  my  service, 


HIS    HISTORY    OF    THE    SURVEY.  359 

if  necessary,  to  enable  me  to  complete  my  Report.  I  had 
not  occasion,  however,  to  call  for  the  whole.  The  balance, 
with  the  additional  five  hundred  dollars  appropriated  in 
1837,  was  paid  me  on  presenting  my  Report.  I  will  here 
add,  that  it  was  through  the  liberal  course  pur-  Kindness  of 

1          Governor 

sued  by  Governor  Edwards  that  I  was  enabled  Edwards. 
to  prepare  that  Report.  Had  he  refused  me  any  addi 
tional  advance  after  the  first  advance  of  five  hundred  dol 
lars,  I  should  have  been  obliged  to  stop  in  January,  1837; 
and  if,  instead  of  sustaining  me  in  the  Legislature  that 
year,  he  had  excited  prejudice  against  me  by  charging 
me  with  unnecessarily  spending  more  time  than  was  re 
quired,  the  survey  would  have  terminated  abortively  at  that 
point.  But  instead  of  that,  he  generously  sustained  me 
up  to  the  completion  of  the  Report.  He  confided  in  me ; 
and  thus  sustained,  I  did  not  disappoint  his  confidence. 
I  completed  an  ample,  and,  I  will  say,  carefully  prepared 
Report. 

I  had  now  explored  the  secondary  trap  of  the  State 
(at  my  own  expense),  and  discovered  a  system  what  he 
of  arrangement,  common  both  to  the  trap  and  had  done" 
its  accompanying  sandstone,  entirely  new,  as  I  believe, 
and  important,  not  only  to  science,  but  for  economical 
purposes,  as,  indeed,  all  science  is  in  greater  or  less  de 
gree.  I  had  reconnoitred  the  State  in  company  with  Pro 
fessor  Shepard,  and  had  examined  particularly  most  of  its 
mines  and  quarries  in  their  geological  relations.  I  had 
carried  through  as  regular  an  exploration  as  my  mode  of 
travelling  would  permit,  by  sections  from  east  to  west,  at 
average  intervals  of  four  miles.  I  had  collected  copious 
materials  in  notes  and  specimens.  I  had  carefully  exam 
ined  and  digested  these,  and  prepared  a  full  Report.  I 
had  thus  spent  more  than  two  years  and  a  half.  I  had 


360  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XVII. 

hitherto  met  with  little  difficulty  in  the  survey,  and,  al 
though  my  compensation  for  my  whole  time  was  but 
about  seven  hundred  dollars  a  year,  out  of  which  I  had 
to  defray  all  my  expenses,  and  during  the  interval  I  had 
travelled  most  of  my  time,  in  obedience  to  instructions,  in 
a  comparatively  expensive  manner,  so  as  really  to  leave 
little  or  nothing  as  a  clear  compensation,  yet  I  am  not 
now  disposed  to  complain  of  that  period.  On  presenting 
my  Report  (January,  1838),  I  requested  an  advance  for 
the  expenses  of  a  resurvey,  as  under  former  appropria 
tions.  Governor  Edwards  informed  me  that  he  was  not 
at  liberty  to  make  any  advance,  as  the  resolution  of  1837 
was  so  restricted  that  nothing  could  be  paid  me  till  the 
completion  of  a  Report,  The  resolution  prepared  by  the 
Trouble  from  committee,  and  seen  by  me,  was  in  the  terms  of 

theLegisla-  J 

tare.  former  resolutions,  leaving  it  at  the  discretion  or 

the  Governor  to  make  advances  for  expenses.  The  resolu 
tion  was  altered  after  I  had  left  Hartford,  and  without  my 
knowledge,  and  no  intimation  of  the  change  was  communi 
cated  to  me.  I  wrote  for  information  to  Henry  Barnard, 
Esq.,  of  Hartford,  who  was  chairman  of  the  committee  of 
the  House  on  the  survey.  He  informed  me  that  the  change 
was  made  at  the  request  of  Governor  Edwards,  and  recom 
mended  me  to  spend  a  few  weeks  in  additional  explora 
tion,  if  necessary,  and  work  up  the  Report  I  had  prepared, 
into  a  final  Report,  and  take  the  fifteen  hundred  dollars 
appropriated  the  preceding  year  (1837).  I  showed  Mr. 
Barnard's  letter  to  Governor  Edwards.  He  answered  me 
to  this  effect,  that  that  was  a  question  for  me  to  decide,  that 
whatever  I  chose  to  present  as  a  final  Report  he  should 
feel  bound  to  accept  as  such,  and  that  he  should  be  happy 
to  present  my  final  Report  to  the  ensuing  Legislature.  It 
was  thus  entirely  in  my  power  to  have  realized  the  whole 


2Bt?48.]  GEOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  CONNECTICUT.  361 

fifteen  hundred  dollars  (of  which  five  hundred  dollars 
has  been  withheld  from  me  during  the  past  year),  three 
years  since,  with  little  additional  labor.  I  replied  that  I 
had  suggested  that  appropriation  as  the  means  of  enabling 
me  to  complete  a  resurvey  of  the  State,  at  least  as  mi 
nute  as  the  one  I  had  last  made ;  that  I  considered  myself 
pledged  to  make  such  survey,  or  leave  the  money  in  the 
treasury.  That  I  might  lose  no  time,  I  then  reserved 
three  hundred  dollars  of  the  five  hundred  paid  me  on 
completing  my  Report  for  expenses;  and  this  sum 
has  been  expended,  without  return,  in  performing  the  du 
ties  of  the  survey.  It  enabled  me  to  get  through  the 
expenses  of  the  two  ensuing  years,  1838  and  1839  (to 
May,  1840),  with  only  an  advance  of  five  hundred  dol 
lars  per  annum. 

I  commenced  exploring  immediately  (in  January,  1838), 
and  continued  it  through  that  winter  when  not 
obstructed   (for  perhaps  three  weeks)  by  deep 
snow.     I  now  travelled  entirely  on  foot.     Till  early  in 
April,  I  was  employed  in  exploring  four  very  extensive 
trap  dikes  connected  with  the  primary  rocks  of  the  State, 
one  of  which  entirely  crosses  the  State  from  the  Sound 
(in  Bradford)  into  Holland,  Massachusetts.     During  this 
exploration,  I  particularly  examined  the  rocks  with  which 
these  dikes  are  connected.     These  dikes  I   consider   as 
systematically  arranged,  in  an  important  relation  to  the 
trap  system,  connected  with  the  secondary,  and  are  thus, 
as  I  conceive,  of  the  highest  interest  to  geological  .sci 
ence,  whatever  may  be  their  economical  bearings.    Their 
exploration  could  not  have  been  omitted  in  a  complete 
survey  of  the  State.     During  that  winter    an  The  survey 
event  occurred  of  a  domestic  nature  which  has  ShTbtgiua 
rendered  my  connection  with  the  survey,  since  a  resurvey » 
16 


362  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [ CHAP.  XVII. 

that  time,  peculiarly  irksome  and  painful,  but  on  which  I 
forbear  to  dwell  further.      In  April,  1838,  I  commenced 
my  regular  plan  of  resurvey.      This  was  by  sections  from 
east  to  west,  half-way  between  my  former  sections,  thus 
reducing  the  intervals  to  average  distances  of  two  miles, 
and  bringing  me  in  contact  with  every  square  mile  in  the 
State  (4,674  square  miles).     I  now  adopted  the  plan  of 
And  travels   travelling  on  foot,  which  I  regret  I   had   not 
on  foot.         adopted  at  first,  not  only  as  reducing  my  ex 
penses,  but  from  its  superior  advantages  in  carrying  on 
the  survey.     I  determined,  too,  to  be  more  minute  in  my 
examinations,  and  more  particular  in  my  notes  and  collec 
tions  of  specimens ;  for,  although  in  my  former  survey  I 
had  been  more  minute  than  I  believe  the  case  in  other 
surveys,  yet  I  was  satisfied  I  had  fallen  considerably  be 
hind  what  was  necessary  for  the  exact  determination  of 
the  geological  system  of  the  State.     I  completed  by  the 
meeting  of  the  Legislature  (1838)  my  first  tour  in  the 
western  primary  district,  in  a  section  along  the  coast  from 
West  Haven  to  the  New  York  line,  and  back  to  Westport. 
This  enabled  me  to  calculate  the  amount  of  labor  I  had 
to  perform  to  complete  my  plan  of  survey.     A  committee 
A  committee  was  raised  on  the  subject  of  the  survey,  and  I 
rJSutcfthe  communicated  to  them  my  plan,  stating  to  them 
survey.         ^^  jt  wou](j  require  the  whole  year  at  least,  if 
I  travelled  all  the  time,  to  complete  my  plan,  and  request 
ing  such  an  alteration  in  the  appropriating  resolution  of 
1837  as  would  enable  the  Governor  to  make  advances 
for  my  expenses.     A  resolution  to  that  effect  was  passed  ; 
and  Governor  Ellsworth,  in  consequence,  made  me  an  ad 
vance   of  five   hundred  dollars.      He   accompanied  this 
advance  with  some  expressions  which  led  me  to  doubt  his 
cordiality.     I  consulted  Mr.  Barnard  (again  chairman  of 


GEOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  CONNECTICUT.  363 

the  committee  of  the  House),  but  he  assured  me  that  I 
might  rely  on  the  most  liberal  course  on  the  part  of  Gov 
ernor  Ellsworth,  even  more  so  than  that  of  the  preceding 
executive.  I  explained  to  Mr.  Barnard  the  extent  of  my 
plan,  and  that  without  the  cordial  support  of  Governor 
Ellsworth  it  would  be  wrong  for  me  to  proceed.  He 
told  me  not  to  fear  any  illiberality,  but  to  proceed  without 
hesitation. 

As  soon  as  the  resolution  was  altered  and  the  advance 
made,  I  renewed  my  exploration  and  continued  it  till  De 
cember.  I  had  intended  to  continue  the  survey  through 
the  winter,  and  so  on  without  interruption  to  its  comple 
tion;  but  I  had  now  travelled  most  laboriously  (as  I  will 
afterwards  explain),  and  with  little  interruption  for  eleven 
months,  and  I  felt  the  absolute  necessity  for  Needs  re- 

pose,  and 

some  repose.     I,  however,  applied  myself  dur-  takes  it 

ing  the  winter,  after  I  had  recovered  from  the  examining 
.  his  mate- 

exhaustion  of  fatigue,  to  the  examination  of  my  rials. 

materials.  The  circumstance  to  which  I  have  alluded 
above,  more  especially,  as  well  as  others,  now  urged  me  to 
bring  the  survey,  if  possible,  to  a  completion,  so  as  to  en 
able  me  to  receive  the  balance  of  the  appropriation,  and 
to  direct  my  attention,  if  I  could  find  such,  to  some  more 
remunerative  employment.  I  therefore,  in  February, 
1839,  called  on  Governor  Ellsworth  for  advice ;  but  he 
duly  told  me  that  he  had  not  attended  to  the  subject,  that 
he  knew  nothing  of  it,  and  that  I  must  do  what  I  thought 
proper.  I  then  applied  to  Mr.  Barnard  (as  chairman  of 
the  committee)  and  proposed  to  him  to  prepare  a  final 
Report,  leaving  more  than  one  third  of  the  State  unex 
plored  in  this  resurvey,  on  condition  that  the  balance  of 
the  appropriation  should  be  paid  me  on  presenting  such  a 
Report,  and  the  survey  be  considered  as  completed.  I 


364  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XVII. 

stated  that  I  could  prepare  such  a  Report,  if  it  would  he 
accepted,  in  season  for  the  Legislature,  and  that  I  could 
not  carry  out  ray  plan  to  completion  without  great  hard 
ship,  unless  the  State  allowed  me  further  support.  Mr. 
Barnard  replied  that  such  a  Report  would  not  be  accepted 
is  pressed  as  final,  that  I  must  complete  my  plan  of  sur- 
suwey,  vey,  and  look  to  the  future  action  of  the  Legis 
lature.  I  then  resolved  to  carry  out  my  plan  of  survey, 
as  long  as  I  had  the  means  of  doing  it;  and  as  soon 
as  the  weather  permitted,  recommenced  (in  March)  my 
plan  of  survey,  and  continued  travelling  till  the  meeting  of 
the  Legislature.  I  had  stated  verbally  in  my  interview 
with  Governor  Ellsworth  what  I  had  done  for  the  survey 
since  the  completion  of  my  former  Report  (which  Report 
had  been  in  his  possession,  and  which  he  had  returned  to 
me  for  my  use  during  the  continuance  of  the  survey)  and 
And  slighted  also  what  yet  remained  for  the  completion  of 

by  the  Gov-  .  . 

ernor.  my  plan.     I  was  not  a  little  surprised  to  rind  in 

his  message,  after  a  statement  of  the  sum  appropriated 
and  expended  for  the  survey,  and  some  remarks  on  its 
large  amount,  no  allusion  to  my  former  Report,  but  a  state 
ment  that  he  had  received  no  Report  from  me,  and  that 
he  knew  nothing  of  the  progress  of  the  survey.  These 
remarks  I  considered  calculated  to  prejudice  the  public 
mind  injuriously  against  me.  I,  however,  presented  a 
written  statement  to  the  Legislature,  through  the  Gov 
ernor,  particularizing  the  circumstances  of  the  survey,  the 
time  I  had  expended,  and  the  labor  yet  necessary  for  its 
completion,  and  stating  that,  without  further  compensa 
tion,  I  could  not  complete  the  survey  without  a  great 
sacrifice.  I  stated  the  time  I  had  expended,  the  amount 
I  had  received  and  remaining  unexpended  ;  that  under  the 
most  favorable  circumstances,  I  could  not  complete  a  Re- 


GEOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  CONNECTICUT.  365 

port  in  a  year  from  that  time  so  as  to  do  justice  to  my 
materials  or  the  subject ;  and  I  proposed  for  the  His  trials 
consideration  of  the  Legislature  less  than  half  Legislature, 
the  amount  that  would  have  been  allowed  me  for  the 
same  time,  if  I  had  been  connected  with  the  New  York 
survey,  according  to  the  terms  originally  offered  there, 
which  had  since  been  raised,  namely,  two  thousand  dollars 
over  and  above  what  had  been  already  appropriated ;  but 
I  certainly  did  not  intend  to  dictate  to  the  Legislature, 
nor  do  I  think  my  language,  either  then  or  at  any  pre 
ceding  or  succeeding  period,  could  any  way  bear  such  a 
construction.  I  was  urged  to  state  what  I  wished,  and  I 
did  so  as  appropriately  as  I  could.  A  committee  was 
raised,  of  which  the  Honorable  Amos  Hendee  of  the 
Senate  was  chairman.  The  committee  met.  I  was 
called  upon  by  the  chairman  to  make  out  an  account  in 
due  mercantile  form.  I  did  so.  The  chairman  just 
looked  at  it,  and,  after  a  few  rude  remarks,  dismissed  the 
subject  and  the  committee.  Some  of  the  committee  of 
the  House  were  friendly  to  me,  and  succeeded  in  obtain 
ing  a  Report,  recommending  that  five  hundred  dollars 
should  be  advanced  me  for  the  ensuing  year.  This  Re 
port  was  accepted.  I  had  before  applied  to  Governor 
Ellsworth  for  such  an  advance,  but  he  refused  to  make  it 
without  the  sanction  of  the  Legislature.  After  the  sanc 
tion  was  given,  I  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  advance,  af 
ter  some  delay,  which  caused  me  in  the  whole  a  delay  of 
nearly  a  month. 

I  then  continued  my  regular  plan  of  exploration,  till 
its  completion  in  August.     After  the  unfavor-  Completes 

his  explora- 

able  reception  of  my  application  to  the  Legisla-  tions. 
ture,  I  received  a  line  from  J.  H.  Townsend,  Esq.,  urg 
ing  me,  in  his  own  name  and  that  of  Mr.  Henry  Bar- 


366  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [CHAP.  XVII. 

nard,  not  to  be  disheartened,  but  to  carry  out  my  plan  to 
its  completion,  with  a  confidence  that  I  should  be  sus 
tained  and  rewarded.  I  will  not  deny  that  I  felt  myself 
encouraged  by  that  communication,  especially  as  it  was 
entirely  unsolicited.  When  I  had  completed  my  regular 
plan  of  survey,  in  August,  I  called  upon  Mr.  Townsend 
at  his  office,  and  found  him  in  company  with  Mr.  John  A. 
Rockwell  of  Norwich,  then  a  member  of  the  Senate, 
who  had  before  shown  himself  friendly  to  me  in  relation 
to  this  survey.  I  stated  to  them  that  I  had  now  com 
pleted  my  regular  plan  of  survey,  and  requested  their  ad 
vice  as  to  the  course  I  should  pursue  in  relation  to  the 
preparation  of  a  Report,  whether  to  aim  merely  at  the 
preparation  of  a  final  Report  for  the  next  Legislature, 
without  attempting  the  regular  examination  of  my  mate 
rials,  or  to  make  the  most  complete  use  I  could  of  my 
materials,  without  looking  to  the  preparation  of  a  Report 
for  the  next  Legislature ;  for  I  felt  certain,  from  my  for- 
is  advised  mer  experience,  that  I  could  not  use  my  mate- 
besTandthe  rials  to  any  purpose,  and  accomplish  the  latter 
SrfhS*  obJect-  TheJ  advised  me,  by  all  means,  to 
materials.  make  the  best  use  of  my  materials,  and  trust 
to  future  Legislatures.  I  followed  their  advice,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  make  a  minute  examination  of  my  materials, 
beginning  at  the  southern  border  (on  the  Sound)  of  the 
western  primary.  I  continued  this  examination  till  Feb 
ruary  or  March,  1840,  and  was  enabled  satisfactorily  to 
determine  that,  with  the  most  complete  use  of  my  mate- 
His  accu-  rials,  I  could  determine  the  primary  geology  of 
racy.  ^ne  g{ate,  if  not  with  perfect  minuteness  and 

accuracy,  yet  with  a  higher  degree  of  distinctness  than  I 
had  yet  observed  in  my  reading.  At  the  time  last  alluded 
to,  I  was  again  importuned  to  prepare  some  sort  of  a  Re- 


GEOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  CONNECTICUT.  367 

port  for  the  Legislature.  I  then  made  a  more  cursory 
examination  of  my  materials,  drew  up  a  new  geological 
map  of  the  State,  and  prepared  a  statement  which  I  made 
to  the  committee  of  the  session  of  1840.  The  Geologi 
cal  Survey  was  not  noticed  in  the  message  for  that  year. 
At  my  request,  Mr.  Foster,  of  Norwich,  introduced  a 
resolution  for  a  Committee  of  Inquiry  on  the  Survey. 
This  resolution  was  adopted,  and  he  was  appointed  chair 
man  of  the  committee  of  the  House.  I  take  this  oppor 
tunity  to  express  my  acknowledgments  of  his  friendly 
exertions  in  my  behalf.  Against  the  wishes  of  my 
friends,  Mr.  Hendee  was  again  appointed  on  the  com 
mittee  from  the  Senate.  I  made  a  statement  and  exhi 
bition  to  the  committee,  and  was  sustained  before  them 
by  Governor  Edwards,  Professor  Sillimun,  and  Conductor 

the  Legisla- 

Drs.  Tully  and  Hooker.  The  committee  of  the  tore. 
House  gave  me  to  understand  that  they  proposed  a  grant 
of  two  thousand  dollars,  payable  on  completion  of  the  Re 
port,  but  that  Mr.  Hendee  refused  his  sanction,  but  said 
that  he  would  sanction  and  sustain  with  his  voice  and  vote 
a  grant  of  one  thousand  dollars,  provided  the  Report  was 
completed  by  April  20,  1841.  They  were  obliged  to  yield 
to  these  terms,  or  expect  his  opposition.  They,  therefore, 
prepared  a  resolution,  appropriating  that  sum  (one  thou 
sand  dollars),  payable  on  completing  the  Report,  provided 
it  be  completed  by  April  20,  1841.  The  Report  accom 
panying  the  resolution  recommended  the  advance  to  me 
of  the  five  hundred  dollars  remaining  of  the  appropriation 
of  1837  for  expenses  during  the  ensuing  year.  The 
report  was  sent  to  Mr.  Hendee  for  his  signature,  where 
upon  he  introduced  it  directly  into  the  Senate,  contrary 
to  the  usual  practice  in  such  cases  and  to  the  expectation 
of  the  committee.  He  then  opposed  it,  contrary  to  his 


368  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XVII. 

understood  pledge,  and  the  resolution  was  rejected  by  the 
casting  vote  of  the  Lieutenant- Governor,  if  I  mistake 
not.  It  was  sent  down  to  the  House,  sustained  by  Mr. 
Foster,  opposed  by  no  one,  and  passed,  as  I  was  assured 
by  the  Speaker,  almost  without  a  dissenting  voice.  After 
several  unsuccessful  attempts  to  get  it  through  the  Senate, 
Mr.  Terry,  who  had  opposed  it,  was  induced  to  move  a 
reconsideration,  on  condition  that  the  resolution  be  further 
restricted  as  it  now  stands,  namely,  that  a  sum  not  exceed 
ing  one  thousand  dollars,  the  amount  to  be  determined 
by  a  committee  (Governor  Ellsworth,  Professor  Silliman, 
and  the  Honorable  S.  K.  Wightman),  should  be  paid  me 
on  completing  a  Report  by  the  20th  of  April,  1841. 
This  was  passed  at  the  last  moment  of  the  session.  As 
soon  as  I  could  obtain  an  interview  with  the  Governor,  1 
requested  an  advance  of  the  five  hundred  dollars,  as  I 
had  been  led  to  expect  it  by  the  committee  of  the  House. 
It  was  refused;  and  the  refusal  was  accompanied  with 
reproaches  for  spending  so  much  time  on  the  survey,  and 
obtaining  so  much  money  as  I  had  done  from  the  Legis 
lature.  In  a  written  communication,  I  endeavored  to 
justify  my  application,  but  received  no  more  favorable 
answer.  I  will  not  any  further  detail  the  personal  ill 
treatment  I  have  received  from  different  persons,  both 
publicly  and  privately. 

I  was  thus,  after  having  abandoned  literary  under- 
His  own  con-  takings  of  importance  to  me,  after  having  de 
voted  five  years  most  laboriously  to  the  survey, 
for  a  sum  which  in  other  States  would  be  considered  a 
scanty  allowance  for  expenses,  and  after  having  been  long 
detached  from  all  other  occupations,  I  was  thus  cut  off 
from  all  resources,  and  subjected,  as  I  conceived  under  the 
circumstances,  to  a  dishonoring  resolution. 


GEOLOGICAL  SUEVEY  OF  CONNECTICUT.  369 

I  will  now  proceed  to  give  a  condensed  view  of  what 
I  had  done  for  the  survey  up  to  the  session  of  A  condensed 

view  of  the 

1840.  I  had  twice  surveyed  the  whole  State  survey. 
on  a  regular  plan  of  sections  from  east  to  west,  reducing 
the  intervals  in  the  last  survey  to  an  average  distance  of 
two  miles ;  thus  passing  along  one  side  of  each  of  the 
nearly  five  thousand  square  miles  of  the  State.  In  the 
first  survey  I  had  employed  seven  months,  in  the  last 
nearly  a  year  of  constant  travel.  I  had  examined  all 
objects  of  geological  interest,  particularly  the  rocks  and 
those  including  minerals,  with  minute  attention.  I  had 
scarcely  passed  a  ledge  or  point  of  rock  without  particular 
examination.  I  had  completed  eleven  manuscript  vol 
umes,  amounting  to  nearly  fifteen  hundred  pages,  very 
finely  written  in  abbreviation.  I  had  collected  specimens 
from  at  least  eight  thousand  localities,  according  to  a  very 
reduced  calculation  from  actual  enumeration  of  one  town, 
and  several  specimens  from  each  locality,  —  each  speci 
men  intended  to  illustrate  something  peculiar  and  noticed 
in  my  notes,  —  all  my  specimens  marked  on  the  papers 
enclosing  them,  and  checked  in  my  note-books,  so  that  I 
know  their  precise  locality,  and  could  again  trace  them  to 
the  spot  where  I  found  them.  In  all  these  researches, 
from  the  commencement,  I  had  had  in  view  the  determi 
nation  of  the  geological  system  of  the  rocks  of  the  State. 
All  these  re.-earches  had  been  a  continued  process,  not 
only  of  particular  examination,  but  of  comparison  and 
reflection,  all  tending  to  the  determination  of  the  great 
system.  I  say  with  the  confidence  of  conviction,  He  nas  <*is- 

J  .  covered  a 

—  of  that  conviction  which  arises  from  long-con-  new  system 

.  of  arrange- 

tinued  devotion  to  the  subject, —  that  1  have  de-  ment. 
termined  in  my  mind  the  system  of  arrangement,  that  it  is 
a  new  system  with  me,  the  result  of  my  own  unassisted 
16*  x 


370  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XVII. 

observation,  one  which  I  have  not  traced  in  my  reading, 
and  one  which  I  believe  to  be  of  the  highest  importance, 
not  only  to  science,  but  for  economical  purposes.  But  the 
system  is  very  complex,  and  to  do  full  justice  to  its  devel 
opment  requires  ample  time  and  reasonable  resources. 
Besides  this  more  general  plan  of  survey,  I  had 
specially  explored  and  traced  out  the  trap,  both 
connected  with  the  primary  and  secondary,  and 
determined  a  new  and  important  system  of  arrangement, 
apparently  applicable  to  both,  and  one,  too,  of  which  I 
have  found  no  traces  in  my  reading.  In  this  investiga 
tion  I  had  expended  nearly  eight  months'  travel.  Besides 
this,  I  had  expended  nearly  as  much  time  in  the  general 
reconnoissance  of  the  State  the  first  year  of  the  survey, 
and  in  particular  investigations,  making  in  the  whole 
nearly  three  years'  constant  travel.  I  had  written  one 
long  Report,  which,  with  the  preceding  minute  examina 
tion  of  materials,  had  occupied  the  greater  part  of  a  year. 
The  rest  of  the  time  had  been  employed  in  examining 
my  materials  or  in  preparing  for  statements  made  to  dif 
ferent  Legislatures.  While  engaged  in  the  survey,  I  can 
confidently  say  I  have  been  laborious  and  diligent.  While 

wwiITtrav?!  trave^'m&  lt  was  mJ  practice  to  rise  early,  in 
ling.  the  longer  days  generally  at  dawn ;  in  the  shorter 

generally  I  got  breakfast  and  was  on  my  way  by  day 
break.  I  continued,  scarcely  with  any  relaxation,  as  long 
as  I  had  daylight,  and  then  was  generally  obliged  to  sit 
up  till  midnight,  not  unfrequently  till  one  o'clock,  A.  si.,  in 
order  to  complete  my  notes  and  arrange  my  specimens. 
This  was  continued,  not  only  week  after  week,  but  month 
after  month,  almost  without  cessation.  While  engaged 
in  examining  my  materials  and  preparing  my  Report,  I 
was  no  less  closely  employed,  and  this  without  the  ad  van- 


GEOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  CONNECTICUT.  371 

tage  of  exercise  which  my  field  employments  gave  me. 
1  say  confidently,  that  never  in  my  life,  although  I  have 
applied  myself  very  closly  to  many  other  objects,  have  I 
given  intenser  application  to  any  object  than  to  this  sur 
vey.  Up  to  the  session  of  1840,  I  had  employed  five 
years  on  the  survey,  and  had  received  three  thousand 
dollars,  averaging  six  hundred  dollars  per  annum,  out  of 
which  I  had  defrayed  all  expenses,  travelling  expenses 
included.  I  need  not  enlarge  on  this  point.  I  was  then 
required  to  prepare  a  Report,  cut  off  from  all  resources, 
deprived  of  that  pittance  of  five  hundred  dollars  which  I 
might  have  secured  two  years  before  almost  without  addi 
tional  labor,  if  I  had  regarded  my  own  interest  Feels  that  he 

has  been  dis- 

only,  with  a  resolution  before  me  which  might  honored. 
allow  me  something  or  nothing,  and  which,  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  I  could  not  but  consider  as  dishonoring. 

It  is  true  I  have  expended  a  considerable  part  of  the 
past  year  on  subjects  connected  with  the  survey.  I  have 
written  part  of  a  Report,  but  I  do  not  claim  I  have  devot 
ed  the  past  year  to  the  survey.  It  has,  however,  been  lost 
to  me  for  any  effective  purpose.  I  have  felt,  under  the 
circumstances  in  which  I  have  been  placed,  I  could  not  pre 
pare  a  Report  which  would  do  credit  or  justice  to  myself, 
to  the  subject,  or  to  the  State.  I  felt  that  I  was  driven 
into  a  Report  under  depressing  disadvantages.  But  I 
will  say  that,  if  the  Legislature  will  place  the  matter  on 
the  footing  that  it  was  placed  by  the  committee  of  last 
year,  namely,  will  renew  an  unconditional  appropriation  of 
one  thousand  dollars,  and  allow  the  advance  of  the  five 
hundred  dollars  remaining  of  the  appropriation  of  1837, 
they  may  rely  on  a  Report  from  me  in  season  for  publica 
tion  before  the  meeting  of  the  next  Legislature.  If  they 
will  treat  me  with  the  confidence  that  Governor  Edwards 


372  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XVII. 

and  the  Legislature  of  1837  showed  me,  they  may  expect 
a  like  result,  —  a  seasonable  Report. 

In  the  remarks  I  have  made  in  relation  to  Governor 
Does  not  in-  Ellsworth  and  others,  I  should  be  sorry  to  be 
an^reflec?1  supposed  to  intend  any  reflection  on  their  con- 
er°nno?Ens°-V~  duct-  J  am  willing  to  believe  that  they  acted 
from  a  conscientious  sense  of  duty,  but  the  effect 
has  not  been  the  less  painful  and  oppressive  to  me.  I 
feel  in  myself  a  full  consciousness  that,  in  this  survey, 
I  have  not  been  governed  by  motives  of  personal  gain.  I 
have  sought  earnestly  and  with  entire  singleness  of  heart  to 
accomplish  the  great  object  I  had  before  me.  If  the  grant 
above  proposed  is  made,  it  will  be  but  a  small  compen- 
His  object  in  sation  for  the  time  and  labors  expended.  The 

^rvey.  o^ject  j  have  had  in  view  is  to  place  the  geol 
ogy  of  the  State  on  a  solid  basis,  to  determine  its  actual 
system  of  arrangement, — a  system  which  once  determined 
will  last  as  long  as  time,  or  at  least  as  long  as  the  human 
race.  This  system  I  consider  not  only  of  the  greatest 
interest  to  science,  —  for  it  will  furnish  a  key  by  which  the 
system  of  the  whole  Atlantic  primary  region  of  the  United 
States  and  of  British  America  may  be  developed,  and 
perhaps  one  of  more  extensive  application,  —  but  of  very 
high  importance  to  the  economical  interests  of  the  State. 
I  can  say  with  confidence,  that  all  the  "  useful "  rocks  and 
minerals  of  the  State  are  connected  distinctly  and  defi 
nitely  with  particular  formations  or  members  of  the  sys- 
The  advan-  tern  I  have  endeavored  to  trace  out.  Without 
system.  a  knowledge  of  this  system,  all  search  for  such 
objects  must  be  made  at  hazard;  with  it,  they  can  be 
sought  for  with  the  aid  of  an  intelligent  guide.  The  iron, 
the  copper,  the  cobalt,  and  other  metals,  the  lime  and 
cement,  the  barytes,  the  valuable  rocks,  all  have  strict 


GEOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  CONNECTICUT.  373 

geological  relations,  and  by  a  knowledge  of  the  geological 
system,  not  only  the  places  where  they  can  be  sought  with 
a  chance  of  success,  but  the  places  where  they  cannot  be 
sought  without  almost  certain  loss,  may  be  determined.  A 
knowledge  of  the  geological  system  is  also  of  great  im 
portance  to  the  agriculture  of  the  State.  The  character 
of  the  soils  depend  upon  the  rock  formations  on  which 
they  rest,  or  where  there  are  large  accumulations  of  dilu 
vium  or  alluvium,  on  the  characler  of  the  latter,  which 
can  be  understood  only  by  a  knowledge  of  the  rocks  from 
which  they  are  derived.  But  I  will  not  dwell  further  on 
these  topics.  I  hope,  when  the  gentlemen,  even  who 
have  opposed  me,  will  inform  themselves  of  what  I  have 
clone,  that  they  will  not  refuse  me  the  request  I  have 
made  above. 

Yours  very  respectfully, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

A  long  difficulty  ensued.  It  was  not  possible  for  him 
to  make  the  use  he  had  intended  of  the  large  The  history 
mass  of  materials  collected,  and  present  his  Re-  port, 
port  in  April,  1841  ;  and  he  could  be  satisfied  with  nothing 
else  ;  while  the  Legislature  began  to  think  that  unless 
they  compelled  him  to  prepare  an  immediate  Report,  he 
would  continue  to  put  the  completion  off,  and  that  it 
might  never  be  done.  He  had  already  in  1837,  as  we 
have  seen,  prepared  a  very  extensive  account  of  his  labors, 
(of  which  the  published  Report  is  but  a  hasty  outline,)  but 
was  unwilling  to  publish  it,  until  he  had  availed  himself 
of  his  new  specimens  and  notes.  Meanwhile,  the  Legis 
lature  became  imperative,  and  refused  to  advance  any 
new  grants  until  the  Report  was  published.  In 

His  Report. 

despair,  Percival  sat  down  in   the  summer  of 


374  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [CHAP.  XVII. 

1 842  to  prepare  such  a  Report  as  he  could.  It  was  "  written 
mainly  from  recollection,  with  only  occasional  reference 
to  rny  materials,  and  under  circumstances  little  calculated 
for  cool  consideration.  It  was  written,  however,  with  an 
intention  to  state  nothing  of  the  truth  or  probability  of 
which  I  did  not  feel  satisfied."  It  was  but  an  abridg 
ment  of  the  larger  work,  which  is  a  densely  written  man 
uscript,  foolscap  size,  of  several  hundred  pages,  probably 
the  most  complete  and  accurate  account  of  any  portion  of 
the  globe  that  ever  was  prepared.  It  does  not  sustain 
the  credit  of  the  State  for  intelligence  and  enterprise,  that 
this  has  been  allowed  to  slumber  for  nearly  twenty  years. 
As  published  in  its  abridged  form,  the  Report  describes 
with  precision  the  exact  relative  position  and  every  nice 
ty  of  distinction  of  the  rocks  of  the  State.  No  such  ac 
curacy  has  been  even  attempted  in  the  Reports  published 
No  theories  DJ  other  States.  But  it  is  curious  to  observe  in 
it  the  utter  absence  of  theories  and  conjectures. 
Percival  said  that  he  purposely  avoided  them,  regarding 
it  as  his  duty  to  present  facts  alone  to  the  people ;  but 
that  he  had  theories,  and  that  his  exhaustive  collection  of 
facts,  especially  in  regard  to  the  trap,  was  made  in  order 
to  verify  his  theories,  he  never  denied.  Many  views  pe 
culiar  to  himself  have  not  stood  the  test  of  more  recent 
scientific  observation  ;  but  the  detection  of  the  curvilinear 
(crescent  form)  arrangement  of  the  trap,  which  he  gives 
in  detail  in  his  Report,  is  due  to  him  alone. 

A  letter  to  Sir  Charles  Lyell,  who,  then  plain  Mr. 
Lyell,*  made  his  acquaintance  when  on  his  visit  to  this 
country,  in  July,  1842,  and  who  shortly  after  his  return  to 
England  solicited,  through  Professor  Ticknor,  a  copy  of 

*  He  is  reported  to  have  said  that  Percival  was  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  men  he  hud  ever  seen. 


LETTER  TO   SIR   CHARLES   LYELL.  375 

Percival's  published  Report,  contains  some  additional  ex 
planations  of  these  theories. 


TO  SIR  CHARLES  LYELL. 

NEW  HAVEN,  October  24, 1843. 
DEAR  SIR,  — 

In  the  last  number  of  the  American  Journal  of  Sci 
ence  (Professor  Silliman's),  in  that  for  October,  Letter  to  Sir 
1843,  in  the  journal  of  the  proceedings  of  the  Lyeii. 
American  Geological  Association,  is  a  statement  of  pro 
ceedings  in  relation  to  the  curvilinear  (crescent  form)  ar 
rangement  of  trap,  which  I  have  laid  down  in  detail,  so 
far  as  it  regards  the  trap  of  Connecticut,  in  my  Geological 
Report,  (a  copy  of  which  I  had  the  pleasure  of  send 
ing  you,  through  the  London  Geological  Society,  last  win 
ter.)     In  that  statement  no  reference  is  made  to  my  ob 
servations,  but  credit  is  given  for  similar  observations  to 
Dr.  Whelpley,  who  is  there  stated  to  have  communicated 
his  observations  to  you  during  your  visit  to  New  Haven. 
Allow  me  to  state  that  this  is  the  first  time  that  I  have 
seen  any  reference,  in  print,  to  this  arrangement  His  original 
of  the  trap,  except  in  my  own  Report.     This  discover^- 
system  of  arrangement  was  long  since  observed  by  me,  as 
early  indeed  as  when  my  attention  was  first  directed  to 
geology  (when  a  student),  from  the  circumstance,  I  may 
say,  that  my  native  place  was  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
larger  trap  formation  in   Connecticut   (in  Berlin,  south 
west  of  Hartford).      For  many  years   my  observations 
were  only  incidental,  and  mostly  on  the  larger  and  more 
elevated  ridges.     But  in  1828  I  visited  the  formations  in 
New  Jersey,  for  the  purpose  of  determining  their  relation 


376  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [CHAP.  XVII. 

to  the  two  trap  formations  in  Connecticut,  when  I  found 
there  the  same  curvilinear  arrangement ;  but  in  reverse 
order,  the  convexity  of  the  lines  being  there  towards 
the  east,  while  in  Connecticut  it  is  towards  the  west.  In 
1834,  as  stated  in  the  Preface  to  my  Report,  I  made  a  mi 
nute  exploration  of  the  trap  in  the  two  secondary  forma 
tions  in  Connecticut ;  and  in  December  of  that  year  I  com 
municated  the  result  of  that  exploration  to  the  Connecticut 
Academy  of  Sciences,  in  which  I  laid  down  my  system  of 
arrangement  in  detail  (with  an  illustrative  map),  espe 
cially  in  the  same  manner  as  in  my  Report.  Professors 
Silliman  and  Shepard  were  both  present  at  that  time,  and 
can  testify  to  this  statement.  I  had  before  communicated 
my  views  to  both  these  gentlemen,  and  explained  them 
to  them,  at  different  localities  near  New  Haven.  In 
1835  I  engaged  in  the  survey  of  the  State;  and  in  1836, 
in  my  first  Report  to  the  Legislature,  I  gave  a  brief  out 
line  of  the  same  arrangement.  In  the  latter  part  of 
1837  I  prepared  a  full  Report  (now  in  manuscript),  in 
which  I  laid  down  my  arrangement  of  the  trap  in  far  more 
minute  detail  than  in  my  published  Report,  (which  last  is 
but  an  abstract  of  the  other,  so  far  as  regards  the  trap 
connected  with  the  secondary  formations.)  In  the  win 
ter  of  1837-38,  after  I  had  completed  my  Report,  I  ex 
plored  minutely  the  trap  dikes  connected  with  the  pri 
mary  rocks  of  the  State,  and  ascertained  their  connection 
in  arrangement  with  the  trap  accompanying  the  second 
ary,  as  I  have  explained  it  in  my  published  Report.  Af 
ter  I  had  done  all  this,  I  explained  my  views  of  the  ar 
rangement  of  the  trap  to  Mr.  J.  D.  Dana,  (geologist  of 
the  American  Exploring  Expedition,)  before  he  proceed 
ed  on  his  voyage,  with  a  request  that  he  would  observe 
whether  the  same  arrangement  prevailed  in  the  trap  he 


LETTER  TO  SIR   CHARLES  LYELL.  377 

might  meet  during  the  voyage.  About  two  years  before 
your  visit  to  New  Haven,  I  explained  my  views  also,  in 
some  detail,  to  Dr.  Whelpley  (then  employed  as  assistant 
to  Professor  Rogers  in  the  Pennsylvania  survey),  and  at 
the  same  time  directed  his  attention  to  a  range  of  trap  ac 
companying  red  sandstone,  crossing  the  southeast  part  of 
that  State,  and  apparently  connected  with  the  trap  for 
mation  in  New  Jersey,  with  a  request  that  he  would  ob 
serve  whether  the  same  arrangement  prevailed  there,  and 
whether  it  was  in  the  Connecticut  or  New  Jersey  order. 
I  recollect  asking  him  in  your  presence  whether  he  found 
the  trap  arranged  there  as  I  had  pointed  out  to  him,  which 
he  admitted  he  had.  You  will  perhaps  recollect  that  I 
stated  to  you  very  briefly  my  views  of  the  arrangement  of 
the  trap,  during  the  excursion  in  which  I  accompanied  you. 
I  did  not  then  enter  into  detail,  as  I  was  at  that  time  prepar 
ing  my  Report,  which  I  hoped  soon  to  communicate  to  you. 
This  system  of  the  arrangement  of  trap,  which  has 
occupied  me  so  long,  and  which  I  have  laid  down  in  detail 
in  my  Report,  is  with  me  entirely  the  result  of  my  own 
observations.  I  am  sure  I  have  not  met  any  statement 
of  it  in  the  course  of  my  reading,  or  even  any  allusion  to 
it,  except  that  in  the  Proceedings  of  the  Geological  Asso 
ciation.  I  have  been  informed  by  Professor  J.  D.  Dana 
(who  was  present),  that  the  President  (Professor  Rogers) 
introduced  his  remarks  by  a  reference  to  the  arrangement 
as  laid  down  in  my  Report.  This,  you  will  observe,  is 
suppressed  in  the  published  statement.  I  am  sure  Dr. 
Whelpley  will  not  claim  any  priority  or  even  originality  in 
relation  to  the  discovery  of  this  system  of  arrangement,  still 
less  Mr.  B.  Silliman,  Jr.  This  system  of  arrangement  I 
have  endeavored  to  lay  down  in  my  Report  as  exactly 
as  possible  in  accordance  with  observed  facts.  I  cannot 


378  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XVII. 

but  think  it  of  great  interest  and  importance  in  relation, 
not  only  to  the  trap  rocks,  but  to  geology  generally  ;  nor 
can  I  doubt  that  it  will  be  found  to  prevail  in  some  form 
in  the  trap  rocks  of  Europe.  Particularly,  I  have  sus 
pected  its  occurrence  in  the  trap  ranges  accompanying  the 
secondary  of  the  Forth  and  Clyde  (Scotland).  I  cannot 
but  feel  a  wish  to  receive  the  credit  (whatever  it  may  be) 
justly  due  me  for  a  system  which  I  have  worked  out  with  so 
much  time  and  labor.  You  will  readily  know  whether  it 
has  been  yet  traced  out  in  Europe.  I  think  I  may  ven 
ture  to  say  that  it  has  not  been  in  this  country,  except  by 
myself.  It  is  not  laid  down  in  Professor  Hitchcock's,  or 
Rogers's  Reports,  both  of  which  treat  of  the  subject  of  trap, 
(the  former  of  that  of  Massachusetts,  continued  from  that 
of  Connecticut,  the  latter  of  that  of  New  Jersey.)  In  my 
Report  I  have  not  given  any  theoretical  view  of  the  mode 
of  formations.  Such  theoretical  views  I  have  purposely 
avoided  in  my  Report.  But  the  explanation  which  I  have 
been  accustomed  to  give  is  based  on  the  same  general 
principles  of  relation  to  the  sandstone  as  that  given  by 
Professor  Rogers  in  the  Proceedings  of  the  Geological  As 
sociation.  The  particular  method  he  has  given,  I  do  not 
think  adequate  to  explain  all  the  varied  phenomena  which 
occur.  At  most,  it  can  only  explain  a  simple,  unbroken 
segment  of  a  line  presenting  peculiar  appearances, 
(namely,  its  middle  portion  inclined  and  interposed,  and 
its  extremities  in  the  form  of  dikes.)  An  examination  of 
the  details  in  my  Report,  I  trust  will  satisfy  you  that  many 
other  modes  of  arrangement  occur,  which  require  a  more 
general  principle  to  explain  them. 

Allow  me  to  request  your  attention  also  to  the  system 
of  arrangement  of  the  primary  rocks  of  this  State  which 
is,  too,  the  result  of  my  own  observations,  and  to  the  gen- 


LETTER  TO  SIR  CHARLES  LYELL.    379 

eral  remarks  on  the  distribution  of  drift  (diluvium).  I 
have  reluctantly  obtruded  myself  on  your  attention  ;  but 
the  introduction  of  your  name  in  connection  with  a  sub 
ject  pf  such  interest  to  me  will,  I  trust,  be  a  sufficient 

apology. 

Yours  very  respectfully, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 
CHARLES  LYELL,  Esq. 

The  following  story  is  told  concerning  the  acceptance 
of  his  Report.  The  law  contemplating  the  sur-  story  about 
vey  provided  that  the  geologist  should  receive  Son'oTSe 
his  remuneration  after  he  had  made  his  Report  Re^ort- 
and  it  had  been  approved  by  the  Governor.  Percival 
waited  upon  Governor  Ellsworth  with  the  Report,  and 
was  very  courteously  received.  The  Governor  took  the 
Report,  and  promised  to  give  it  his  immediate  attention, 
and  when  he  had  examined  it,  as  the  law  required,  would 
make  the  necessary  requisition,  if  it  were  satisfactory. 
Percival  rolled  up  the  Report,  and  withdrew.  He  insist 
ed  that  neither  the  Governor,  nor  any  one  else,  was  com 
petent  to  pass  upon  the  merits  of  his  Report,  and  he 
would  not  submit  to  the  indignity.  He  was  desperately 
in  want  of  the  money  that  the  Report  would  bring  him, 
but  he  would  not  take  it  on  such  conditions.  Some  of  his 
friends  finally  procured  the  Report  from  him  by  an  inno 
cent  stratagem ;  and  it  received,  of  course,  the  formal  ap 
probation  of  the  Governor,  who  admitted  his  incompe 
tence  to  revise  a  geological  work  of  Dr.  Percival,  but  was 
too  good  an  officer  not  to  yield  due  obedience  to  the  law. 
Percival  had  thus  failed  to  comply  with  the  terms  re 
quired  by  the  Legislature,  and  was  not,  in  strict  justice, 
entitled  to  his  pay ;  but,  said  the  Governor,  alluding  to  the 
subject  afterwards,  in  the  presence  of  Professor  Fowler, 


380  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [CHAP.  XVII. 

rubbing  his  hands  together,  "  We  huddled  it  up,  we  hud 
dled  it  up  " ;  and  thus  ended  the  most  laborious  and  ex 
acting  work  which  Percival  ever  undertook. 

The  Report,  when  published,  made  an  octavo  volume  of 
its  size  and  f°ur  hundred  and  ninety-five  pages,  accompa- 
c  aracter.  njej  foy  a  geological  map  of  Connecticut.  It 
has  been  aptly  characterized  as  "  a  work  distinguished  for 
its  great  learning  and  research,  but  which  was  defective 
in  method  and  in  distinctness  of  practical  application." 
The  American  Journal  of  Science  passed  upon  it  the 
following  editorial  criticism  in  the  number  for  January, 
1813:  — 

"  When  we  remember  the  learning  and  talent  of  the 
Criticism  of  author,  and  the  laborious  accuracy  with  which 

the  Journal  .  *  . 

of  Science,  he  investigates  every  subject  which  occupies  his 
attention,  —  that  he  began  this  exploration  in  1835,  and 
has  pursued  it  with  great  diligence  until  the  present  year, 
—  that  he  has  been  personally  and  on  foot  in  contact  with 
every  one  of  the  four  thousand  six  hundred  square  miles 
in  the  State,  and  has  carefully  collated  and  compared 
more  than  eight  thousand  specimens,  besides  much  more 
numerous  dips  and  bearings,  —  it  cannot  be  doubted  that 
he  has  laid  the  foundation  for  all  future  investigations  into 
the  geology  of  Connecticut. 

"  Dr.  Percival  tells  us,  that  '  this  Report  is  but  a  hasty 
outline ' ;  by  this  we  presume  he  intends  that  the  full 
exposition  of  his  theoretical  opinions  is  not  given ;  but 
we  feel  assured  as  to  the  fulness  and  accuracy  of  the 
facts,  and  that  it  will  prove  a  satisfactory  solution  of  a 
problem  of  the  highest  practical  as  well  as  scientific 
importance,  —  the  exact  determination  of  the  geological 
system  of  the  State.* 
*  We  are,  however,  not  a  little  surprised  that  he  hesitates  in  express- 


REMARKS  OF  JOURNAL  OF  SCIENCE.       381 

"  That  this  Report  will  meet  the  expectations  of  the  un 
scientific  but  otherwise  intelligent  bulk  of  the  reading 
population  of  the  State  it  would  be  unreasonable  to  expect. 
It  is  not  the  object  of  the  book  to  please,  or  amuse,  nor 
even  to  point  out  new  sources  of  wealth,  (though  this  duty 
has  not  been  neglected  whenever  opportunity  offered,) 
and  we  are  not  to  suppose  that  the  greater  portion  of  the 
legislative  assemblies  who  have  voted  grants  of  money 
for  its  completion  looked  mainly  to  these  secondary  ends. 
But  we  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  we  have, 
for  all  future  time,  a  faithful  guide  to  our  explorations, 
and  a  standard  of  comparison  at  once  full  and  simple. 
The  scientific  geologist,  who  reads  Dr.  Percival's  Re 
port,  will  only  regret  that  he  has  not  the  advantage  of  the 
full  exposition  of  the  author's  theoretical  views  on  many 
points  of  interest  to  science  at  large,  —  views  which  we 
know  the  accomplished  author  possesses,  and  which,  we 
trust,  with  the  aid  of  the  abundant  unused  notes  and  ma 
terials  at  his  disposal,  he  will  at  some  future  time  make 
public  for  the  benefit  of  his  fellow-laborers. 

"  It  will  ever  be  gratefully  remembered,  that  we  owe 
the  present  Report  on  our  geology,  as  well  as  that  of 
Professor  Shepard  on  the  mineralogy  of  the  State,  to  the 
enlightened  zeal  of  the  Honorable  Henry  W.  Edwards, 
under  whose  advice,  when  in  the  gubernatorial  chair  in 
1835,  the  measure  was  originally  proposed,  and  who  has 
since  uniformly  sustained  it  by  his  official  and  personal 
influence." 

ing  an  opinion  as  to  the  age  of  our  secondary.  The  facts  published  by 
others  render  the  determination  almost  beyond  dispute,  that  our  sand 
stones  belong  to  the  new  red  group. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

1835-1843. 

REMINISCENCES     OF    PROFESSOR    SHEPARD.  —  A    LETTER    FROM 
PROFESSOR  DANA. 

AM  happy  to  be  able  to  add  to  the  sketch  of  his 
labors  upon  the  Geological  Survey  the  graphic 
reminiscences  of  his  companion  in  travel  and 
early  collaborator,  Professor  Shepard. 

Among  my  letters  is  one  from  Dr.  E.  D.  North,  de- 
siring  me  to  furnish  any  facts  within  my  reach 
relating  to  the  scientific  character  and  general 
Shepard.  Opjnions  of  the  late  James  G.  Percival.  This 
information  Dr.  North  proposed  to  incorporate  into  a  me 
moir,  to  be  prefixed  to  a  new  edition  of  Percival's  Poems. 
The  biographer,  with  his  task  unfinished,  has  followed  the 
subject  of  his  studies  to  the  tomb. 

Dr.  North's  request  revived  in  me  many  recollections 
of  Percival ;  and  finally  led  me  to  draw  out  the  following 
sketch  of  him,  as  he  appeared  to  my  eyes  in  those  days 
when  I  saw  him  often,  and  sometimes  shared  his  pursuits. 
Vague  and  shadowy  is  the  delineation,  and  to  myself 
seems  little  better  than  the  reminiscence  of  a  phantom  or 
a  dream.  Percival's  life  had  few  externalities,  —  he  re 
lated  himself  to  society  by  few  points  of  contact ;  and  I 
have  been  compelled  to  paint  him  chiefly  by  glimpses  of 
his  literary  and  interior  existence. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.   SHEPARD.     383 

My  acquaintance  with  him  grew  out  of  some  conversa 
tions  on  geological  topics,  and  commenced  in  His  acquaint- 
1828,  when  he  was  working  on  his  translation  him  and  his 
of  Malte-Brun's  Geography.  The  impressionist1 
made  on  me  by  his  singular  person  and  manners  an 
was  vivid  and  indelible.  Slender  in  form,  rather  above 
than  under  the  middle  height,  he  had  a  narrow  chest,  and 
a  peculiar  stoop,  which  was  not  in  the  back,  but  high  up 
in  the  shoulders.  His  head,  without  being  large,  was  fine. 
His  eyes  were  of  a  dark  hazel,  and  possessed  uncommon 
expression.  His  nose,  mouth,  and  chin  were  symmetri 
cally,  if  not  elegantly  formed,  and  came  short  of  beauty 
only  because  of  that  meagreness  which  marked  his  whole 
person.  His  complexion,  light  without  redness,  inclined 
to  sallow,  and  suggested  a  temperament  somewhat  bilious. 
PL's  dark  brown  hair  had  become  thin  above  the  forehead, 
revealing  to  advantage  that  most  striking  feature  of  his 
countenance.  Taken  all  together,  his  appearance  was 
that  of  a  weak  man,  of  delicate  constitution,  —  an  appear 
ance  hardly  justified  by  the  fact ;  for  he  endured  fatigue 
and  privation  with  remarkable  stanchness. 

Percival's  face,  when  he  was  silent,  was  full  of  calm, 
serious  meditation ;  when  speaking,  it  lighted  up  with 
thought,  and  became  noticeably  expressive.  He  com 
monly  talked  in  a  mild,  unimpassioned  undertone,  but  just 
above  a  whisper,  letting  his  voice  sink  with  rather  a  pleas 
ing  cadence  at  the  completion  of  each  sentence.  Even 
when  most  animated,  he  used  no  gesture  except  a  move 
ment  of  the  first  and  second  fingers  of  his  right  hand 
backward  and  forward  across  the  palm  of  the  left,  mean 
time  following  their  monotonous  unrest  with  his  eyes,  and 
rarely  meeting  the  gaze  of  his  interlocutor.  He  would 
stand  for  hours,  when  talking,  his  right  elbow  on  a  man- 


384  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XVIII. 

tel-piece,  if  there  was  one  near,  his  fingers  going  through 
their  strange  palmistry ;  and  in  this  manner,  never  once 
stirring  from  his  position,  he  would  not  unfrequently  pro 
tract  his  discourse  till  long  past  midnight.  An  inexhausti 
ble,  undemonstrative,  noiseless,  passionless  man,  scarcely 
evident  to  you  by  physical  qualities,  and  impressing  you, 
for  the  most  part,  as  a  creature  of  pure  intellect. 

His  wardrobe  was  remarkably  inexpensive,  consisting 
of  little  more  than  a  single  plain  suit,  brown 

His  dress. 

or  gray,  which  he  wore  winter  and  summer,  until 
it  became  threadbare.  He  never  used  boots;  and  his 
shoes,  though  carefully  dusted,  were  never  blacked.  A 
most  unpretending  bow  fastened  his  cravat  of  colored 
cambric.  For  many  years  his  only  outer  garment  was  a 
brown  camlet  cloak,  of  very  scanty  proportions,  thinly 
lined,  and  a  meagre  protection  against  winter.  His  hat 
was  worn  for  years  before  being  laid  aside,  and  put  you  in 
mind  of  the  prevailing  mode  by  the  law  of  contrast  only. 
He  was  never  seen  with  gloves,  and  rarely  with  an  um 
brella.  The  value  of  his  entire  wardrobe  scarcely  ex 
ceeded  fifty  dollars ;  yet  he  was  always  neat,  and  appeared 
unconscious  of  any  peculiarity  in  his  costume. 

An  accurate  portrait  of  him  at  any  period  of  his  life 
can  scarcely  be  said  to  exist.     His  sensitive  raod- 

His  portrait. 

esty  seems  to  have  made  mm  unwilling  to  let  his 
features  be  exposed  to  the  flaring  notoriety  of  canvas. 
Once,  indeed,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  painted  by  Mr. 
George  A.  Flagg ;  but  the  picture  having  been  exhibited 
in  the  Trumbull  Gallery  of  Yale  College,  Percival's  sus 
ceptibility  took  alarm,  and  he  expressed  annoyance,  — 
though  whether  dissatisfied  with  the  portrait  or  its  public 
exposure  I  cannot  say.  The  artist  proposed  certain  alter 
ations,  and  the  poet  listened  to  him  with  seeming  assent. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.   SHEPARD.     385 

The  picture  was  taken  back  to  the  studio  ;  objectionable 
or  questionable  parts  of  it  painted  out ;  the  likeness  de 
stroyed  for  the  purpose  of  correction  ;  and  Percival  was 
to  give  another  sitting  at  his  convenience.  That  was  the 
last  time  he  put.  himself  within  painting  reach  of  Mr. 
Flagg's  easel.* 

In  those  days  of  our  early  acquaintance,  he  occupied 
two  small  chambers,  one  of  which  fronted  on  the 
business  part  of  Chapel  Street  (New  Haven). 
His  books,  already  numerous,  were  piled  in  double  tiers 
and  in  heaps  against  the  walls,  covering  the  floors  also, 
and  barely  leaving  space  for  his  sleeping-cot,  chair,  and 
writing-table.  His  library  was  a  sanctum  to  which  the 
curious  visitor  hardly  ever  gained  admittance.  He  met 
even  his  friends  at  the  door,  and  generally  held  his  inter 
views  with  them  in  the  adjoining  passage.  Disinclined 
to  borrow  books,  he  was  especially  averse  to  lending. 
Dr.  Guhrauer's  assertion  respecting  Leibnitz,  that  "his 
library  was  numerous  and  valuable,  and  its  possessor  had 
the  peculiarity  that  he  liked  to  worm  in  it  alone,  being 
very  reluctant  to  let  any  one  see  it,"  applies  equally  well 
to  Percival. 

He  was  rarely  visible  abroad  except  in  his  walks   to 

*  I  remember  to  have  seen  an  excellent  portrait  of  him,  by  Francis 
Alexander,  in  the  studio  of  that  artist,  in  the  year  1825  ;  but  in  whose 
possession  it  now  is  I  am  unable  to  say.  [It  belongs  to  the  heirs  of  the 
late  Dr.  George  Hay  ward.  In  a  letter  to  me,  Mr.  Lyman  C.  Draper,  of 
Madison,  Wisconsin,  remarks  concerning  Mr.  Flagg's  portrait:  "We 
have  in  the  Gallery  of  our  State  Historical  Society  an  original  portrait 
of  Percival,  painted  by  Mr.  Flagg  of  New  Haven,  about  1831,  which 
we  obtained  by  purchase  since  Percival's  death.  It  looks  to  me  very 
much  in  expression  like  the  engraving  prefixed  to  the  edition  of  his 
poems."  There  is  another  portrait  now  in  possession  of  the  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association,  of  Troy,  N.  Y.,  painted  about  1823  by 
Professor  S.  F.  B.  Morse,  which  has  a  more  youthful  expression  than 
Alexander's.] 

17  Y 


386  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XVIII. 

and  from  the  country,  whither  he  often  resorted  to  pass 
not  hours  only,  but  frequently  entire  days,  in  solitary  wan 
derings,  —  partly  for  physical  exercise,  —  still  more,  per 
haps,  to  study  the  botany,  the  geology,  and  the 
minutest  geographical  features  of  the  environs  ; 
for  his  restless  mind  was  perpetually  observant,  and  could 
not  be  withheld  from  external  nature,  even  by  his  poetic 
and  philosophic  meditation.  In  these  excursions,  he  oft 
en  passed  his  fellow-mortals  without  noticing  them.  A 
friend,  if  observed,  he  greeted  with  a  slight  nod,  and  possibly 
stopped  him  for  conversation.  Once  started  on  a  subject, 
Percival  rarely  quitted  it  until  it  was  exhausted ;  and 
consequently  these  interviews  sometimes  outlasted  the 
leisure  of  his  listener.  You  excused  yourself,  perhaps  ; 
or  you  were  called  away  by  some  one  else ;  but  you  had 
only  put  off  the  conclusion  of  the  discourse,  not  escaped 
it.  The  next  time  Percival  encountered  you,  his  first 
words  were,  "  As  I  was  saying,"  —  and  taking  up  the 
thread  of  his  observations  where  it  had  been  broken,  he 
went  straight  to  the  end. 

The  excellent  bookstore  of  the  late  Hezekiah  Howe, 
Literary  one  of  the  best  in  New  England,  and  particu 
larly  rich  in  those  rare  and  costly  works  which 
form  a  book-worm's  delight,  was  one  of  Percival's  best- 
loved  lounging-places.  He  bought  freely,  and,  when  he 
could  not  buy,  he  was  welcome  to  peruse.  He  read  with 
marvellous  rapidity,  skipping  as  if  by  instinct  everything 
that  was  unimportant ;  avoiding  the  rhetoric,  the  common 
places,  the  falsities ;  glancing  only  at  what  was  new,  what 
was  true,  what  was  suggestive.  He  had  a  distinct  object 
in  view  ;  but  it  was  not  to  amuse  himself,  nor  to  compare 
author  with  author  ;  it  was  simply  to  increase  the  sum  of 
his  own  knowledge.  Perhaps  it  was  in  these  rapid  fo- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.  SHEPARD.     387 

rays  through  unbought,  uncut  volumes,  that  he  acquired 
his  singular  habit  of  reading  books,  even  his  own,  with 
out  subjecting  them  to  the  paper-knife.  People  who 
wanted  to  see  Percival  and  obtain  his  views  on  special 
topics  were  accustomed  to  look  for  him  at  General  Howe's, 
and  always  found  him  willing  to  pour  forth  his  volumi 
nous  information. 

His  income  at  this  time  was  derived  solely  from  lit 
erary  jobs,  and  was  understood  to  be  very  lim- 

___  Income. 

ited.  What  he  earned  he  spent  chiefly  for 
books,  particularly  for  such  as  would  assist  him  in  per 
fecting  that  striking  monument  of  his  varied  and  pro 
found  research,  his  new  translation  and  edition  of  Malte- 
Brun.  For  this  labor  the  time  had  been  estimated,  and 
the  publishers  had  made  him  an  allowance,  which,  if  he 
had  worked  like  other  men,  would  have  amounted  to  eight 
dollars  a  day.  But  Percival  would  let  nothing  go  out  of 
his  hands  imperfect ;  a  typographical  error,  even,  I  have 
heard  him  say,  sometimes  depressed  him  like  actual  ill 
ness.  He  translated  and  revised  so  carefully,  he  correct 
ed  so  many  errors  and  added  so  many  foot-notes,  that  his 
industry  actually  devoured  his  own  wages  ;  and  his  eight 
dollars  gradually  diminished  to  a  diurnal  fifty  cents. 

Percival  made  no  merely  ceremonial  calls,  few  friendly 
visits,  and  attended  no  parties.  If  he  dropped  in  upon  a 
family  of  his  acquaintance,  he  rarely  addressed  himself 
to  a  lady.  Otherwise  there  was  nothing  peculiar  in  his 
deportment ;  for,  if  silent,  he  was  not  embarrassed, — and 
if  he  talked,  it  was  without  any  appearance  of  self-con 
sciousness. 

Judging  from  his  isolated  habits,  some  persons  sup 
posed  him  misanthropic.  Let  me  give  one  instance  of 
his  good-nature.  One  of  the  elder  professors  of  Yale 


388  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.   [CHAP.  XVIII. 

had  fallen  into  a  temporary  misappreciation  with  the  stu 
dents,  who  received  his  instructions,  to  say  the  least,  with 
an  ill-concealed  indifference.  They  whispered  during  his 
lectures,  and  in  other  ways  rendered  themselves  strenu 
ously  disagreeable  to  the  sensitive  nerves  of  the  professor. 
Indignant  at  such  behavior  toward  a  worthy  and  learned 
man,  who  had  been  his  own  instructor,  Percival  proposed 
a  plan  for  stopping  the  annoyance.  It  was,  that  a  num 
ber  of  old  graduates,  professors,  and  others,  himself  being 
one,  should  attend  the  lectures,  listen  to  them  with  the 
respect  they  merited,  and  so,  if  possible,  bring  the  stu 
dents  to  a  sense  of  propriety  and  of  the  advantages  they 
were  neglecting. 

No,  Percival  was  not  a  misanthrope.     During  an  ac- 
Not  a  misan-  quaintance  of  twenty-five  years,  I  never  knew 

thrope.  ^m     (jo     an    a(Jt    Qr    utter    a  wor(J   which     COuld 

countenance  this  opinion.  He  indulged  in  no  bitter  re 
marks,  cherished  no  hatred  of  individuals,  affected  no 
scorn  of  his  race  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  held  large  views 
concerning  the  noble  destinies  of  mankind,  and  expressed 
deep  interest  in  its  advancement  toward  greater  intelli 
gence  and  virtue.  The  local  affections  he  certainly  had, 
for  he  was  gratified  at  the  prosperity  of  his  fellow-towns 
men,  proud  of  his  native  State,  and  took  a  pleasure  in 
defending  her  name  from  unjust  aspersions.  Patriotic, 
too,  —  none  more  so,  — he  rejoiced  in  the  welfare  of  the 
whole  country,  knew  its  history  thoroughly,  and  bestowed 
on  its  military  heroes,  in  particular,  a  lively  appreciation, 
which  was  singular,  perhaps,  in  a  man  of  such  gentle  hab 
its  and  nature.  I  cannot  forget  the  excited  pleasure  with 
which  we  visited,  when  on  the  geological  survey  of  Con 
necticut,  Putnam's  Stairs  at  Horseneck,  and  Putnam's 
Wolf- Den  in  Pomfret.  At  the  latter  place,  Percival's 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.  SHEPARD.     389 

enthusiasm  for  the  heroic  hunter  and  warrior  led  him 
to  carve  his  initials  on  a  rock  at  the  entrance  of  the 
chasm.  It  was  the  only  place  during  the  tour  where  he 
left  a  similar  memorial. 

American  statesmen  he  admired  scarcely  less  than 
American  soldiers  ;  nor  did  he  neglect  any  infor-  0raParti- 
mation  within  his  reach  concerning  public  men  san* 
and  measures.  It  was  singular  to  observe  with  what  free 
dom  from  excitement  he  discussed  the  most  irritating 
phases  of  party,  —  speaking  of  the  men  and  events  of  his 
own  day  with  as  much  philosophic  calmness  as  if  they  be 
longed  to  a  previous  century  ;  not  at  all  deceived,  I  think, 
by  the  temporary  notoriety  and  power  which  frequently 
attend  the  political  bustler,  —  quite  positive,  indeed,  that 
many  of  our  "  great  men  "  were  far  inferior  to  multitudes 
in  private  life.  Webster  he  respected  greatly,  and  used 
to  regret  that  his  fortune  was  not  commensurate  with  his 
tastes.  Like  a  true  poet,  he  believed  devoutly  in  native 
genius,  considered  it  something  inimitable  and  incommu 
nicable,  and  worshipped  it  wherever  he  found  it. 

Percival  was  indifferent  and  even  disinclined  to  female 
society.  He  never,  in  my  hearing,  said  a  hard  Female 
thing  of  any  woman,  or  of  the  sex  ;  and  I  remem-  8ociety- 
ber  distinctly  the  flattering  and  even  poetic  appreciation 
with  which  he  spoke  of  individual  ladies.  Of  one  who 
has  since  become  a  distinguished  authoress  of  the  South, 
he  said,  that  "  her  conversation  had  as  great  an  intellect 
ual  charm  for  him  as  that  of  any  scholar  among  his  male 
acquaintances."  Of  a  lady  still  resident  in  New  Haven 
he  observed,  that  "  there  was  a  mysterious  beauty  in  her 
thoughtful  face  and  dark  eyes  which  reminded  him  of  a 
deep  and  limpid  forest  fountain."  But  although  he  did 
not  hate  women,  he  certainly  was  disinclined  to  their  so- 


390  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [CHAP.  XVIII. 

ciety,  —  an  oddity,  I  beg  leave  to  say,  in  any  man,  and  a 
most  surprising  eccentricity  in  a  poet.  Constitutional 
timidity  may  have  founded  this  habit  during  youth  ;  for, 
as  I  have  already  observed,  his  modesty  was  sensitive 
and  almost  morbid.  Then  came  his  multitudinous  stud 
ies,  which  absorbed  him  utterly,  and  in  which,  unfortu 
nately  for  Percival,  if  not  for  the  ladies,  these  last  took  so 
little  interest  that  conversation  was  not  mutually  desira 
ble.  A  remark  he  made  to  a  scientific  friend,  who  had 
just  been  married,  will,  perhaps,  throw  some  light  on  the 
subject.  "  How  is  this ? "  said  he  ;  "I  thought  you  were 
wedded  to  science."  This  was  all  the  felicitation  he  had 
to  offer ;  and  without  asking  for  the  bride,  he  plunged 
into  the  discussion  which  was  the  object  of  the  visit. 

In  1835  commenced  the  Geological  Survey  of  Connec- 
nis  compan-  ticut,  and  I  became  Percival's  companion  in  la- 
ion  m  labor.  j^^  rpQ  ym  w&g  jntrus|-e(J  faQ  geolOory  proper, 

and  to  myself  the  mineralogy  and  its  economical  applica 
tions.  During  the  first  season,  we  prosecuted  our  investi 
gations  together,  travelling  in  a  one-horse  wagon,  which 
carried  all  our  necessary  implements,  and  visiting,  before 
the  campaign  ended,  every  parish  in  the  State.  Great 
was  the  wonder  our  strange  outfit  and  occupation  excited 
in  some  rustic  neighborhoods  ;  and  very  often  were  we 
called  upon  to  enlighten  the  popular  mind  with  regard  to 
our  object  and  its  uses.  This  was  never  a  pleasant  task 
to  Percival.  He  did  not  relish  long  confabulations  with 
a  sovereign  people  somewhat  ignorant  of  geology  ;  and, 
moreover,  his  style  of  describing  our  business  was  so  pe 
culiar,  that  it  rarely  failed  to  transfer  the  curiosity  to 
himself,  and  lead  to  tiresome  delays.  In  New  Milford, 
an  inquisitive  farmer  requested  us,  in  a  somewhat  ungra 
cious  manner,  to  give  an  account  of  ourselves.  Percival 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.   SHEPARD.     391 

replied,  that  we  were  acting  under  a  commission  from  the 
Governor  to  ascertain  the  useful  minerals  of  the  State  ; 
whereupon  our  utilitarian  friend  immediately  demanded 
to  be  informed  how  the  citizens  at  large,  including  him 
self,  were  to  be  benefited  by  the  undertaking,  —  putting 
question  on  question  in  a  fashion  which  was  most  perti 
nacious  and  almost  impertinent.  Percival  became  impa 
tient,  and  tried  to  hurry  away.  "  I  demand  the  informa 
tion,"  exclaimed  the  New-Milfordite  ;  "  I  demand  it  as 
my  right.  You  are  only  servants  of  the  people  ;  and  you 
are  paid,  in  part  at  least,  out  of  my  pocket."  "  I  '11  tell 
you  what  we  '11  do,"  said  Percival ;  "  we  can't  stop,  but 
we  'II  refund.  Your  portion  of  the  geological  tax,  —  let 
me  see,  —  it  must  be  about  two  cents.  We  prefer  hand 
ing  you  this  to  encountering  a  further  delay."  Our  agri 
cultural  friend  and  master  did  not  take  the  money,  al 
though  he  did  the  hint,  arid  in  sulky  silence  withdrew 
from  our  company. 

Driving  through  the  town  of  Warren,  we  stopped  a 
farmer  to  inquire  the  way  to  certain  places  in  Reminis- 
the  vicinity.  He  gave  us  the  information cences> 
sought,  staring  at  us  meanwhile  with  a  benevolently  in 
quisitive  expression,,  and,  at  last,  volunteering  the  remark, 
that  if  we  wanted  a  job,  we  had  better  stop  at  the  factory 
in  the  hollow.  We  thanked  him  for  his  goodness,  and 
thought,  perhaps,  of  Sedgwick  geologizing  by  the  road 
side,  and  getting  a  charitable  half-crown  flung  at  him  by 
a  noble  lady  who  was  on  her  way  to  dine  in  his  company 
at  the  house  of  a  mutual  acquaintance. 

Let  us  grant  here  one  brief  parenthesis  of  respect  and 
astonishment  to  the  scientific  knowledge  and  philological 
acumen  of  a  distinguished  graduate  of  Yale  College,  and 
member  of  Congress,  whom  we  encountered  on  our  trav- 


392  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XVIII. 

els.  Hearing  us  speak  of  mosaic  granite,  a  rock  occurring 
in  Woodbridge,  to  which  we  had  given  the  name,  from  the 
checker-like  arrangement  of  its  felspathic  ingredient,  he 
concluded  that  we  attributed  its  formation  to  the  era  of 
Moses,  and  asked  Percival  what  evidence  he  had  for  such 
an  opinion.  Small  blame  to  him,  perhaps,  for  the  blun 
der,  but  it  seemed  a  very  droll  one  to  geologists. 

In  Greenwich,  the  extreme  southwestern  town  of  the 
State,  we  encountered  an  incident  to  which  my  companion 
would  sometimes  refer  with  a  slight  degree  of  merriment. 
In  general,  he  was  no  joker,  no  anecdotist,  and  had  but 
a  feeble  appreciation  of  droll  sayings  or  humorous  mat 
ters  of  any  kind.  But  in  Greenwich  he  heard  a  memor 
able  phrase.  Among  the  tavern-loungers  was  a  man  who 
had  evidently  seen  better  days,  and  who,  either  for  that 
reason  or  because  of  the  large  amount  of  rum  he  had 
swallowed,  entertained  a  lofty  opinion  of  himself,  and  dis 
coursed  de  omnibus  rebus  fei  a  most  consequential  fashion. 
He  soon  made  himself  a  sort  of  medium  between  our 
selves  and  his  fellow-loafers.  Overhearing  us  say  that 
we  wished  to  pass  the  New  York  frontier  for  the  sake  of 
tracing  out  the  strata  then  under  examination,  he  pro 
ceeded  with  much  pomposity  to  declare  to  his  deeply  cu 
rious  auditory,  that  "  it  was  his  opinion  that  the  Governor 
of  the  State  should  confer  upon  these  gentlemen  discre 
tionary  powers  to  pass  the  limits  of  Connecticut,  whenever 
and  wherever,  in  the  prosecution  of  their  labors,  the  in 
terests  of  science  required  them  so  to  do."  After  this,  we 
rarely  crossed  the  State  line  but  Percival  observed,  "  We 
are  now  taking  advantage  of  our  discretionary  powers." 

Of  the  few  stories  Percival  told  me,  here  is  one.     In 

One  of  his     one  of  our  country  places,  a  plain,  shrewd  towns 

man  fell  into  chance  conversation  with  him,  and 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.  SHEPARD.     393 

entertained  him  with  some  account  of  a  neighbor  who  had 
been  seized  with  a  mania  for  high  art,  and  had  let  loose 
his  frenzy  upon  canvas  in  a  deluge  of  oil-colors.  If  I 
mistake  not,  Percival  was  invited  to  inspect  these  produc 
tions  of  untaught  and  perhaps  unteachable  genius.  They 
were  vast  attempts  at  historical  scenes,  in  which  the  heads 
and  legs  of  heroes  were  visible,  but  played  a  very  second 
ary  part  in  the  interest,  compared  with  a  perfect  tempest 
of  drapery,  which  rolled  in  ungovernable  masses,  like  the 
clouds  of  a  thunder-storm. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  them  ?  "  inquired  Percival. 

"  Well,  I  don't  claim  to  be  a  judge  of  such  things,"  re 
plied  his  cicerone  ;  "  but  the  fact  is,  (and  I  told  the  paint 
er  so,)  that,  when  I  look  at  'em,  about  the  only  thing  I 
can  think  of  is  a  resurrection  of  old  clothes." 

In  the  town  of  Lebanon,  an  incident  occurred  which 
affected  us  rather  more  seriously.  Turning  a  corner  sud 
denly,  we  came  upon  an  old  man  digging  up  cobble-stones 
by  the  roadside  and  breaking  them  in  pieces  with  an  axe. 
"  A  brother  geologist,"  was  our  first  impression.  At  that 
moment  the  old  man  sprang  towards  us,  the  axe  in  one 
hand  and  half  a  brick  in  the  other,  shouting  eagerly,  — 

"  I  guess  Mr.  — • —  "  (name  indistinguishable)  "  will  be 
glad  to  see  you,  gentlemen." 

"For  what?" 

"  Why,  he  has  got  several  boxes  of  jewels  ;  and  I  gave 
an  advertisement  in  the  paper." 

"Whose  are  they?" 

"  King  Jerome's." 

"  And  who  is  he  ?  " 

"The  king  of  the  world!"  shouted  the  maniac,  still 
advancing  with  a  menacing  air,  and  so  near  the  wagon  by 
this  time  that  he  might  almost  have  hit  Percival  with  his 
17* 


394  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [ CHAP.  XVIII. 

axe.  Without  pausing  to  hear  more  about  the  jewels,  a 
sudden  blow  to  the  horse  barely  enabled  us  to  escape  the 
reach  of  our  fellow-laborer  before  he  had  time  to  use  his 
axe  on  our  own  formations. 

In  the  following  year,  when  Percival  was  pursuing  the 

survey  by  himself,  on  horseback,  some  of  the  elements  of 

this  adventure  were  repeated,  but  reversed  after  a  very 

odd  fashion.     The  late   Dr.  Carrington   of  Farmington, 

who  told  me  the  tale,  being  ten  miles  from  home 

A  mistake. 

on  a  professional  excursion,  drove  up  to  a  tav 
ern  and  found  himself  welcomed  with  extraordinary  em 
phasis  by  the  innkeeper.  The  Doctor  was  just  the  per 
son  he  wanted  to  see  ;  the  Doctor's  opinion  was  very  much 
needed  about  that  strange  man  out  there ;  he  wished  the 
Doctor  to  have  a  talk  with  him,  and  see  whether  he  was 
crazy  or  not.  The  fellow  had  been  there  a  day  or  two, 
picking  up  stones  about  the  lots ;  and  some  of  the  boys 
had  been  sent  to  watch  him,  but  could  get  nothing  out  of 
him.  This  morning  he  wanted  to  go  away,  and  ordered 
his  horse ;  but  the  neighbors  would  n't  let  it  be  brought 
up,  for  they  said  he  was  surely  some  mad  chap  who  had 
taken  another  man's  horse.  Thus  talking,  the  landlord 
pointed  out  Percival,  surrounded  by  a  group  of  villagers, 
who,  quietly,  and  under  pretence  of  conversation,  were 
holding  him  under  a  sort  of  arrest.  The  Doctor  rushed 
into  the  circle,  addressed  his  friend  Percival  by  name, 
spoke  of  the  Survey,  and  thus  satisfied  the  bystanders, 
who,  guessing  their  mistake,  dispersed  silently.  No  open 
remonstrance  was  needed,  and  perhaps  Percival  never 
understood  the  adventure  in  which  he  thus  unconsciously 
formed  the  principal  character. 

While  we  were  in  Berlin,  the  native  town  of  Percival, 
he  related  to  me  several  incidents  of  his  earlier  life.    His 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.  SHEPARD.     395 

father  was  discussing  some  geographical  question  with  a 
neighbor ;  and  the  future  geologist,  then  a  boy  His  eariier 
of  seven  or  eight,  sat  by  listening  until  the  hfe' 
ignorance  of  hi.s  elders  tempted  him  to  speak.  "  Where 
did  you  learn  that  ?  "  they  asked,  in  astonishment.  With 
timid  reluctance,  he  confessed  that  he  had  been  reading 
clandestinely  Morse's  large  geography,  of  which  there 
was  a  copy  in  a  society  library  kept  near  his  own  home. 
The  book,  he  added,  had  an  indescribable  attraction  for 
him ;  and  even  at  that  almost  infantile  age  he  was  famil 
iar  with  its  contents.  It  was  this  reading  of  Morse,  per 
haps,  which  determined  his  taste  for  those  geographical 
studies  in  which  he  subsequently  became  so  distinguished. 
With  him,  as  with  Humboldt  and  Guyot,  geography  was 
a  term  of  wide  signification.  Far  from  confining  it  to  the 
names  and  boundaries  of  countries,  seas,  and  lakes,  to 
the  courses  of  rivers  and  the  altitudes  of  mountains,  he 
connected  with  it  meteorology,  natural  history,  and  the 
leading  facts  of  human  history,  ethnology,  and  archaeol 
ogy.  He  knew  London  as  thoroughly  as  most  Americans 
know  New  York  or  Philadelphia,  and  yet  he  had  never 
crossed  the  Atlantic. 

An  instance  of  the  minuteness  of  his  geographical  in 
formation  was  related  to  me  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  The  minute 
ness  of  his 
Adam,  a  Scottish  clergyman,  long  resident  at  information. 

Benares,  but  subsequently  settled  over  the  Congregational 
Church  in  Amherst,  Massachusetts.  On  his  way  to  visit 
me  at  New  Haven,  he  met  in  the  stage-coach  a  country 
man  of  his,  who  soon  opened  a  controversy  with  him 
respecting  the  course  of  a  certain  river  in  Scotland.  The 
discussion  had  continued  for  some  time,  when  another 
passenger  offered  a  suggestion  which  opened  the  eyes  of 
the  debaters  to  the  fact  (not  unfrequently  the  case  in  such 


396  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [ CHAP.  XVIII. 

controversies)  that  they  were  both  wrong.  "  How  long 
since  you  were  there,  sir  ? "  they  asked ;  and  the  reply 
was,  "  I  never  was  in  Scotland."  "  Who  are  you,  sir  ?  " 
Mr.  Adam  wanted  to  ask,  but  kept  the  question  until  he 
could  put  it  to  me.  I  did  not  feel  much  hesitation  in  tell 
ing  him  that  the  stranger  must  have  been  Percival ;  and 
Percival  it  was,  as  I  afterwards  learned  by  questioning 
him  of  the  circumstance. 

But  we  must  return  to  Berlin,  in  order  to  hear  one 
Another  more  of  Percival's  stories.  Passing  a  field,  half 
a  mile  from  his  early  home,  he  told  an  incident 
connected  with  it,  and  related  to  his  favorite  study  of 
Natural  History.  The  field  had  belonged  to  his  father, 
who,  besides  being  the  physician  of  Berlin,  indulged  a 
taste  for  agriculture.  Just  before  the  harvest  season,  it 
became  palpable  that  this  field,  then  waving  with  wheat, 
was  depredated  upon  to  a  wasteful  extent  by  some  un 
known  subjects  of  the  animal  kingdom.  Having  watched 
for  the  pilferers  in  vain  by  day,  the  proprietor  resolved  to 
mount  guard  by  night,  and  accordingly  ambushed  himself 
in  the  invaded  territory.  Near  midnight,  he  saw  his  own 
flock  of  geese,  hitherto  considered  so  trustworthy,  ap 
proach  silently  in  single  file,  make  their  entry  between 
the  rails,  and  commence  transferring  the  wheat-crop  into 
their  own  crops,  after  a  ravenous  fashion.  Having  eaten 
their  fill,  they  re-formed  their  column  of  march,  with  a 
venerable  gander  at  the  head,  and  trudged  silently  home 
ward,  cautiously  followed  by  their  owner,  who  noticed, 
that,  on  regaining  his  door-yard,  they  set  up  a  vociferous 
cackle,  such  as  he  had  repeatedly  heard  from  them  before 
at  about  the  same  hour.  It  was  a  roost  evident  attempt 
to  establish  an  alibi  ;  it  was  as  much  as  to  say,  "  If  you 
miss  any  wheat,  we  did  n't  take  it ;  we  are  honest  birds, 


JBt.40. 


]    REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF,   SHEPARD.     397 


and  stay  at  home  o'  nights,  Dr.  Percival."  The  next 
morning,  however,  a  general  decapitation  overtook  the 
flock  of  feathered  hypocrites.  "  It  was  a  curious  instance 
of  the  domestic  goose  reverting  to  its  wild  habit  of  noc 
turnal  feeding,"  remarked  my  narrator,  dwelling  charac 
teristically  upon  the  natural-history  aspect  of  the  fact. 

Percival  was  almost  incapable  of  an  irrelevancy.  The 
Survey  was  the  business  in  hand,  and  he  rarely  discoursed 
much  of  things  disconnected  with  it,  except,  perhaps, 
when  we  were  retracing  our  routes,  or  when  the  labors 
of  the  day  were  over.  Of  poets  and  poetry  he  was  not 
inclined  to  speak.  I  never  heard  him  quote  a  line,  either 
his  own  or  another's,  nor  indulge  in  a  single  poetic  obser 
vation  concerning  the  objects  which  met  us  in  our  wan 
derings.  Indeed,  he  confessed  that  he  no  longer  felt  dis 
posed  to  write  verses,  being  satisfied  that  his  productions 
were  not  acceptable  to  the  prevailing  taste ;  although  he 
admitted  that  he  composed  a  few  stanzas  occasionally,  in 
order  to  make  trial  of  some  unusual  measure  or  new  lan 
guage.  He  told  me  that  he  had  versified  in  thirteen 
languages ;  and  I  have  heard  from  others  that  he  had 
imitated  all  the  Greek  and  German  metres. 

Of  politics,  foreign  and  domestic,  he  talked  frequently, 
but  always  philosophically  and  dispassionately,  much  as 
if  he  were  speaking  of  geological  stratification.  His 
views  of  humanity  were  deduced  from  a  most  nis  ^^  of 
extensive  survey  of  the  race  in  all  its  historical  humanity- 
and  geographical  relations.  He  distinctly  recognized  the 
fact  of  its  steady  advance  from  one  stage  to  another,  in 
accordance  with  a  plan  of  intellectually  organic  develop 
ment,  as  marked  as  that  detected  by  the  geologist  in  the 
gradual  preparation  of  the  earth  for  the  abode  of  our 
species.  The  slowness  and  seeming  vacillation  of  man's 


398  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [CiiAr.  XVIII. 

upward  movement  could  not  stagger  his  faith  ;  for  it  had 
taken  thousands  of  ages  to  make  earth  habitable,  why 
should  it  not  take  thousands  more  to  bring  man  to  his 
completeness  ?  Equnlly  free  was  he  from  misgiving  on 
account  of  the  remaining  presence  of  so  much  misery  and 
wretchedness ;  for  these  he  considered  as  the  indispensa 
ble  stimuli  to  progress.  Even  war,  he  used  to  say,  is 
sometimes  necessary  to  the  welfare  of  nations,  as  sickness 
and  sorrow  plainly  are  to  that  of  individuals ;  although, 
to  his  moral  sense,  the  human  authors  of  this  scourge 
were  no  more  admirable  than  the  devisers  of  any  private 
calamity.  Improvements  in  knowledge  he  regarded  as 
the  only  elements  of  real  progress ;  and  these  he  looked 
upon  as  true  germinal  principles,  bound  up  organically  in 
the  constitution  of  the  human  soul.  Indeed,  that  philo 
sophical  calmness  which  was  characteristic  of  him  seemed 
to  flow  in  some  measure  from  his  settled  persuasion  that 
the  same  matchless  wisdom  and  benevolence  he  recognized 

C5 

throughout  nature  wrought  with  a  still  higher  providence 
and  a  more  earnest  love  for  man,  and  would  make  all 
things  finally  conduce  to  his  welfare.  It  was  clear  that 
he  drew  a  profound  tranquillity  from  the  thought  that  he 
was  a  part  of  the  vast  and  harmonious  whole. 

Concerning  his  religious  views  he  was  exceedingly  taci- 
His  religious  turn.  He  had  no  taste  for  metaphysical  or 
theological  discussions,  although  his  library  con 
tained  a  large  number  of  standard  works  on  these  sub 
jects.  Religion  itself  he  never  alluded  to  but  with  the 
deepest  respect.  Talking  to  me  of  Christianity,  he  quot 
ed  the  observation  of  Goethe,  that  "  it  had  brought  into 
the  world  a  light  never  to  be  extinguished."  He  spoke 
of  Jesus  with  poetic,  if  not  with  Christian  fervor.  He 
contrasted  his  teachings  and  deeds  with  the  prevailing 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.  SHEPARD.     399 

maxims  and  practice  of  the  people  among  whom  he  ap 
peared,  with  the  dead  orthodoxy  of  its  religious  teachers, 
and  with  the  general  ignorance  and  hypocrisy  of  the 
masses.  "  Had  I  lived  in  such  a  state  of  society,"  he 
said,  "  I  am  certain  that  it  would  have  driven  me  mad." 
He  expressed  an  earnest  esteem  for  the  doctrines  of 
the  Evangelical  clergy,  and  even  approved,  though  more 
moderately,  the  religious  awakenings  which  occur  under 
their  labors.  He  described  to  me,  with  some  particulari 
ty,  a  revival  he  had  witnessed  in  his  native  town,  when 
young ;  and  repeated  some  of  the  quaint  exhortations  of 
the  lay  brethren,  all  in  a  manner  perfectly  serious,  but 
calculated,  perhaps,  to  leave  the  impression  that  such 
views  of  religion  were  not  necessary  to  himself,  although 
they  might  be  quite  suited  to  the  minds  of  others.  The 
rational  theology  he  regarded  as  anti-poetic  in  influence, 
and  of  very  doubtful  efficacy  in  working  upon  the  masses. 
He  appreciated,  however,  the  honesty  and  superior  culture 
of  the  Unitarian  scholars  and  clergy  of  Boston,  with  many 
of  whom  he  had  been  on  terms  as  intimate  as  his  shyness 
accorded  to  any  one.  He  attended  church  but  once  with 
me  while  we  were  engaged  in  the  survey.  We  Attends 

heard  a  discourse  from  the  Rev.  Dr.  E , 

upon  the  conduct  of  the  young  ruler  who  in 
quired  his  duty  of  Christ.  The  speaker  argued  from  the 
sacred  narrative  a  universal  obligation  to  devote  our  pos 
sessions  to  religious  purposes,  and  upheld,  as  an  exam 
ple  to  all  men,  the  self-devotion  of  a  young  missionary 
(then  somewhat  known)  who  had  despised  a  splendid  for 
tune,  offered  him  on  condition  of  his  remaining  at  home,  and 
had  consecrated  himself  to  the  Christianization  of  Africa. 

"How  did  you  like  the  sermon  ?"  I  inquired  of  Percival. 

"  I  consider  it  an  animating  and  probably  useful  per- 


sermon. 


400  JAMES    GATES    PEE  CIV  AL.    [CHAP.  XVIII. 

formance,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  it  does  not  accord  with  com 
prehensive  conceptions  of  humanity,  inasmuch  as  its  main 
inference  was  drawn  from  the  exception,  and  not  from  the 
rule.  There  always  have  been,  and  probably  always  will 
be,  men  possessed  of  the  self-immolating  or  martyr  spirit. 
Such  instances  are  undoubtedly  useful,  and  have  my  ad 
miration  ;  but  they  cannot  become  general,  and  never 
were  meant  to  be." 

During  the  Survey,  we  were  invited  to  pass  an  evening 
in  a  family  remarkable  for  its  musical  talent,  and  I  remem 
ber  distinctly  the  evident  pleasure  with  which  Percival 
listened  to  the  chorus  of  organ  tones  and  rich,  cultivated 
voices.  In  general,  however,  his  appreciation  of  music 
was  subordinate  to  his  study  of  syllabic  movement  in  ver 
sification  ;  and  it  was  with  reference  chiefly  to  poetic 
measure,  I  have  been  told,  that  he  acquired  what  mastery 
he  had  over  the  accordion  and  guitar. 

Percival's  favorite  topics,  when  evening  came  and  we 
His  favorite  rested  from  our  stony  labors,  were  the  modern 
languages  and  the  philosophy  of  universal  gram 
mar.  They  seemed  to  have  filled  the  niches  in  his  heart 
from  which  he  had  banished,  or  tried  to  banish,  the  Mu 
ses.  The  subtile  refinements  of  Bopp  were  a  perpetual 
luxury  to  him ;  he  derived  language  from  language  as 
easily  as  word  from  word  ;  and,  once  started  in  the  intri 
cacies  of  the  Russian  or  the  Basque,  there  was  no  predict 
ing  the  end  of  the  discourse.  Thus  were  thrown  away, 
upon  a  solitary  listener,  midnight  lectures  which  would 
have  done  honor  to  the  class-rooms  of  Berlin  or  the  Sor- 
bonne.  In  looking  at  such  an  instance  of  intellectual 
pleasure  and  acumen,  as  connected  in  no  small  degree 
with  the  study  of  foreign  languages,  one  cannot  avoid 
associating  together  the  unsolved  mystery  of  that  discrep- 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.  SHEPARD.     401 

ancy  of  tongues  prevailing  in  different  countries  with  the 
disagreeing  floras  and  faunas  of  the  same  regions,  —  each 
diversity  bearing  alike  the  unmistakable  marks  of  Om 
nipotent  design  for  the  happiness  and  improvement  of 
man.  v 

The  perfection  of  his  memory  was  amazing.     During 
the  year  following:  the  Survey,  when  we  had  fre- 

J  J '  His  memory. 

quent  occasion  to  compare  recollections,  I  ob 
served  that  no  circumstance  of  our  labors  was  shadowy 
or  incomplete  in  his  meniory.  He  could  refer  to  every 
trifling  incident  of  the  tour,  recall  every  road  and  path 
that  we  had  followed,  every  field  and  ledge  that  we  had 
examined,  particularize  the  day  of  the  week  on  which 
we  had  dined  or  supped  at  such  a  tavern,  and  mention  the 
name  of  the  landlord.  I  asked  him  how  he  was  able  to 
remember  such  minutiae.  He  replied,  that  it  was  his  cus 
tom,  on  going  to  bed,  to  call  up,  in  the  darkness  and  still 
ness,  all  the  incidents  of  the  day's  experience,  in  their 
proper  order,  and  cause  them  to  move  before  him  like  a 
diorama  through  a  spiritual  morning,  noon,  and  evening. 
"  It  has  often  appeared  to  me,"  he  said,  "  that  »4\  this 
purely  mental  process  I  see  objects  more  distinctly  than 
I  behold  them  in  the  reality."  But  his  memory  doubtless 
gained  an  immense  additional  advantage  from  his  habitual 
seclusion,  from  his  unconcern  with  the  distracting  cus 
toms  of  society,  and,  most  of  all,  from  the  imperturbable 
abstraction  under  which  he  studied  and  observed.  With 
him  there  was  no  blending  of  collateral  subjects,  no 
permitted  intrusion  of  things  irrelevant  or  trivial,  so 
that  the  channels  of  his  thoughts  were  always  single, 
deep,  and  traceable.  It  was  a  mental  straightforward 
ness  and  conscientiousness,  as  rare,  perhaps,  as  moral 
rectitude  itself. 


402  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  XVIII. 

In  diet,  Percival  was  the  most  abstemious  person  I 
His  die  ever  ^new'  ^s  health  was  uniformly  good,  — 
the  specimens  of  a  geologist,  when  he  collects 
them  himself,  being  as  favorable  to  digestion  and  appe 
tite  as  the  pebbles  to  a  chicken  ;  yet,  I  am  persuaded,  my 
companion  in  no  case  violated  the  golden  rule  of  leaving 
the  table  uns^ted.  No  matter  how  long  had  been  his 
fast,  he  showed  no  impatience  at  hunger,  made  no  remark 
upon  the  excellence  of  any  dish,  found  fault  with  nothing, 
or,  at  most,  only  seemed  to  miss  drinkable  coffee  and  good 
bread,  articles  seldom  to  be  met  with  in  the  country.  He 
ate  slowly,  selecting  his  food  with  the  discrimination 
which  ought  to  belong  to  a  chemist  or  physiologist,  and 
then  thought  no  more  about  it.  Alcoholic  drinks  he  nev 
er  tasted,  except  an  occasional  glass  of  wine,  to  which  his 
attention  perhaps  had  been  called  on  account  of  its  age  or 
superior  excellence.  Even  then  it  was  not  the  flavor 
which  interested  him,  so  much  as  the  history,  geographical 
and  other.  Peculiar  as  he  was  in  his  own  habits  of  diet, 
Not  critical  he  offered  no  strictures  upon  the  practice  of  oth- 

toward 

others.  ers,  however  different,  unless  it  ran  into  hurtful 
excesses.  The  maxim  of  Epictetus  in  the  "Enchiridion," 
—  "Never  preach  how  others  ought  to  eat,  but  eat  you  as 
becomes  you,"  —  seemed  to  be  his  rule.  Indeed,  Percival 
was  one  of  those  rare  men  who  withhold  alike  censure  and 
praise  respecting  the  minor  matters  of  life.  Not  that  he 
was  without  opinions  on  such  subjects;  but,  to  obtain  them, 
one  was  forced  to  question  him.  On  the  whole,  I  do  not 
think  it  would  be  going  too  far  to  apply  to  him  the  above- 
named  moralist's  description  of  the  wise  man :  "  He 
reproves  nobody,  praises  nobody,  blames  nobody,  nor  even 
speaks  of  himself;  if  any  one  praises  him,  in  his  own 
mind  he  contemns  the  flatterer  ;  if  any  one  reproves  him, 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.  SHEPARD.     403 

he  looks  with  care  that  he  be  not  unsettled  in  the  state  of 
tranquillity  that  he  has  entered  into.  All  his  desires  de 
pend  on  things  within  his  power  ;  he  transfers  all  his 
aversions  to  those  things  which  nature  commands  us  to 
avoid.  His  appetites  are  always  moderate.  He  is  indif 
ferent  whether  he  be  thought  foolish  or  ignorant.  He 
observes  himself  with  the  nicety  of  an  enemy  or  a  spy, 
and  looks  on  his  own  wishes  as  betrayers." 

Percival's  solitary  habits,  combined  with  the  invariable 
seriousness  of  his  manner,  led  many  persons  to  Hi8  soiitary 
believe  him  melancholy  and  even  disposed  to  hablts- 
suicide.  He  once  confessed  to  me,  that  he  sometimes 
felt  giddy  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  While  we  were 
examining  the  great  iron  furnaces  of  Salisbury,  he  told 
me  that  he  was  afraid  of  walking  near  the  throat  of  a 
chimney  when  in  blast,  and  that  more  than  once  he  had 
turned  and  run  from  the  lurid,  murky  orifice,  lest  a  sud 
den  failure  of  self-control  should  cause  him  to  reel  into 
the  consuming  abyss.  No,  —  Percival  neither  felt  nor 
expressed  disgust  with  life.  On  the  contrary,  he  was 
strongly  attached  to  it ;  the  acquisition  of  knowledge 
clothed  it  with  inexpressible  value  ;  the  longest  day  was 
ever  too  short  to  fulfil  his  designs.  Like  the  wise,  labori 
ous  men  of  all  ages,  he  almost  repined  at  the  swiftness  of 
the  years.  "  I  am  amazed  at  the  flight  of  time,"  he  said 
to  me  on  the  arrival  of  his  forty-second  birthday  ;  "  it 
seems  only  a  year  since  I  was  thirty-two;  —  I  have  lost 
ten  years  of  my  life." 

Before  entering  upon  the  survey  of  Connecticut,  he  was 
not  specially  devoted  to  any  one  branch  of  phys-  Not  a  one_ 
ics,  although  his  tastes  inclined  him  most  toward  Slded  scholar> 
geology.     While  he  could  sympathize  perfectly,  he  said, 
with  those  who  threw  their  whole  force  into  a  single 


404  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [CHAP.  XVIH. 

study,  he  felt  himself  attracted  equally  by  the  entire  circle 
of  nature,  and  thought  omniscience  a  nobler  object  of  am 
bition  than  any  one  science.  He  admitted  that  the  search 
after  all  knowledge  is  incompatible  with  eminence  in  any 
particular  department ;  but  he  believed  that  it  affords 
higher  pleasure  to  the  mind,  and  confers  ability  to  do  sig 
nal  service  to  mankind  in  pointing  out  the  grand  connec 
tions,  the  general  laws,  of  nature. 

It  is  not,  perhaps,  widely  known  that  Percival  was  a 
well-informed  botanist.     He  studied  this  branch 

A  botanist. 

when  a  medical  student  under  Professor  Ivep, 
and  assisted  his  instructor  in  laying  out  a  small  botanical 
garden,  the  plants  of  which  were  arranged  after  the  nat 
ural  orders  of  Jussieu.  Soon  after  finishing  his  medical 
education,  he  gave  a  course  of  lectures  on  botany  in 
Charleston,  South  Carolina,  before  a  very  select  audience, 
composed  mostly  of  ladies.  The  only  drawback  to  the 
lecturer's  success  was  his  excessive  timidity.  As  an  evi 
dence  of  the  assiduity  with  which  he  botanized,  it  may  be 
mentioned  that  he  had  seen  the  Geranium  Robertianum 
(a  plant  which  nestles  in  the  sunny  clefts  of  our  trap 
mountains)  in  bloom  during  every  month  of  the  year. 
One  year  he  found  its  blossoms  in  December,  another  in 
January,  and  so  on,  until  the  round  of  the  monthly  cal 
endar  was  completed. 

Percival  was  an  earnest  advocate  of  popular  education. 
An  advocate  He  manifested  much  interest  in  the  first  svste- 

of  popular  .  f  * 

education,  matic  attempt  (at  the  instance  of  Mr.  James 
TJrewster)  to  furnish  the  people  of  New  Haven  with 
popular  instruction  in  the  form  of  lectures.  At  a  public 
dinner,  given  by  Mr.  Brewster,  on  the  occasion  of  open 
ing  the  building  in  which  rooms  had  been  fitted  up  for 
these  lectures,  the  late  Mr.  Skinner  gave  the  toast,  "  Our 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.   SHEPARD.     405 

mechanics,  the  right  arm  of  New  Haven,"  and  Percival 
followed  with,  "  Science,  the  right  eye  which  directs  the 
right  arm  of  New  Haven."  He  believed  most  fully  in 
the  superiority  of  intelligent  labor.  He  pointed  out  cases 
in  which  a  college-training  had  been  connected  with  sig 
nal  eminence  in  mechanical  invention,  and  said,  that, 
according  to  his  observations,  persons  engaged  in  indus 
trial  pursuits  usually  succeeded  in  proportion  to  the  thor 
oughness  of  their  education. 

Percival  himself  gave  a  course  of  lectures,  or  rather, 
lessons,  in  New  Haven,    not    in  the  building  Lectures  on 

the  German 

above  mentioned,  for  his  natural  timidity  was  language. 
too  great  to  encounter  a  public  audience,  but  in  the  theo 
logical  lecture-room  of  Yale  College.  They  were  on  the 
German  language,  and  consisted  chiefly  of  translations  of 
prose  and  poetry  into  English,  intermingled  with  philo 
sophical  commentaries  on  the  peculiarities  of  the  original. 
It  was  pure  grammar ;  he  did  not  talk  German,  and 
claimed  no  acquaintance  with  the  niceties  of  pronuncia 
tion  ;  but  all  his  listeners,  most  of  whom  were  graduates, 
were  struck  with  his  perfect  mastery  of  the  subject. 

Percival    held   one    peculiar    opinion    concerning    a 
branch  of  college    education.     He  objected  to  An  opinion 

on  college 

the  modern  practice  or  teaching  the  natural  education, 
sciences  by  means  of  a  profusion  of  drawings,  models, 
showy  experiments,  and  other  expedients  addressing  the 
mind  so  strongly  through  the  eye.  While  these  might  be 
allowable  in  popular  lectures,  before  audiences  lacking  in 
early  intellectual  discipline,  where  amusement  was  a  con 
sideration,  and  where  without  it  the  public  ear  could  not 
be  secured,  he  thought  that  the  collegian  should  study  dif 
ferently, —  that  his  understanding  should  be  taxed  se-. 
verely,  and  that  he  should  be  inured,  from  the  first,  to 


406  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [ CHAP.  XVIII. 

rigid  attention,  in  order  to  a  lasting  remembrance  of  the 
truths  offered  to  him.  It  would  be  a  useful  exercise  for 
the  instructor,  he  thought,  to  elucidate  obscure  phenom 
ena  and  complicated  structures  by  words  only,  assisting 
himself,  perhaps,  occasionally,  by  extemporaneous  draw 
ings.  Such  a  course  would  inspire  the  scholar  with  def 
erence  for  his  teacher,  and  confidence  in  his  own  ability 
to  acquire  a  similar  grasp  of  the  subject.  While  there 
is  certainly  some  truth  in  this  opinion,  it  would  not  be 
difficult,  per-haps,  to  invalidate  its  general  force.  Why 
should  the  ear  be  the  only  admitted  means  of  acquiring 
knowledge  ?  Nature,  the  greatest  of  teachers,  does  not 
judge  thus :  she  conveys  half  her  wisdom  to  us  by  sight, 
instead  of  by  faith  ;  she  gives  her  first  lessons  to  the  in 
fant  through  the  eye.  Would  Percival,  in  looking  for  his 
attentive  audiences,  have  preferred  a  congregation  of 
blind  men  ? 

Speaking  of  literary  composition,  he  said  that  he  often 
His  habits  of  took  great  pains  with  his  productions,  shifting 
position.  words  and  phrases  in  many  ways,  before  satisfy 
ing  himself  that  he  had  attained  the  best  form  of  expres 
sion  ;  and  he  assured  me  that  these  slowly  elaborated 
passages  were  the  very  ones  in  which  he  afterwards  rec 
ognized  the  most  ease  and  nature,  and  which  others  sup 
posed  him  to  have  thrown  off  carelessly.  I  asked  him 
how  it  was  that  children,  in  their  unpremeditated  way, 
expressed  themselves  with  so  much  directness  and  beauty. 
They  have  but  a  single  idea  to  present  at  a  time,  he  said ; 
they  seize  without  hesitation  on  the  first  words  that  offer 
for  its  expression,  unperplexed  by  any  such  choice  of 
terms  as  would  surely  occur  to  maturer  minds  ;  and  most 
important  of  all,  perhaps,  they  are  wholly  unembarrassed 
by  limiting  qualifications  arising  from  a  fuller  knowledge 
of  the  subject. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.  SHEPARD.     407 

His  prose  style  is  a  rare  exemplification  of  classic  se 
verity  and  perspicuousness.  In  each  paragraph  the  ideas 
arrange  themselves  in  faultless  connection,  like  the  mole 
cules  of  a  crystal  around  its  centre.  The  sentences  are 
not  long,  the  construction  is  simple,  the  words  are  Eng 
lish  in  its  purity,  without  admixture  of  foreign  phrase  or 
idiom.  But  the  most  striking  peculiarity  of  his  diction  is 
the  utter  absence  of  ornament ;  for  Percival  evidently 
held  that  the  chief  merits  of  composition  are  clearness  and 
directness.  Poetic  imagery,  brilliant  climaxes  and  an 
titheses,  fanciful  or  grotesque  turns  of  expression,  he 
rejected  as  unfavorable  to  that  simple  truth  for  which  he 
studied  and  wrote.  This  dry,  almost  mathematical  style, 
was  no  necessity  with  him ;  few  men,  surely,  have  had  at 
command  a  richer  vocabulary,  English  and  foreign,  than 
Percival ;  few  could  have  adorned  thought  with  more  or 
choicer  garlands  from  the  fields  of  knowledge  and  imagi 
nation. 

To  letter-writing  he  had  a  great  aversion.  I  have 
never  seen  a  letter  or  note  from  him  to  which  His  hand- 
his  signature  was  attached.  The  autograph-  wntins- 
fanciers,  therefore,  will  find  a  scanty  harvest  when  they 
come  to  forage  after  the  name  of  Percival.  His  hand 
writing  corresponded  in  some  sense  with  his  character. 
It  was  fine ;  the  lines  straight  and  parallel ;  the  letters 
completely  formed,  though  without  fulness  of  curve ;  no 
flourishes,  and  no  unnecessary  prolongations  of  stroke, 
above  or  below  the  general  run  of  the  line.  There  were 
few  erasures,  the  punctuation  was  perfect,  and  the  manu 
script  was  fit  for  the  press  as  it  left  his  hand.* 

*  This  cannot  be  said  of  all  his  writings,  since  there  are  many  poems 
and  much  manuscript  besides  which  can  never  be  read  because  it  was 
written  in  such  a  running,  up-and-down,  illegible  hand. 


408  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XVIII. 

Literary  criticism  he  rarely  indulged  in,  being  too  dis- 
Literary  inclined  to  praise  or  blame,  and  too  intensely 
Lsm>  devoted  to  the  acquisition  of  positive  knowledge. 
If  he  commented  severely  upon  anything,  it  was  usually 
the  slovenly  diction  of  some  of  our  State  surveys,  or  the 
inaccuracies  of  translations  from  foreign  languages. 

His  only  published  criticism,  of  which  I  am  aware,  was 
discharged  at  a  phrenological  lecturer,  whose  extraordi 
nary  assumptions  and  ad-captandum  style  had  excited  his 
disgust.  Percival  did  not  reverence  the  science  of  bumps, 
and  believed,  in  the  words  of  William  von  Humboldt, 
that  "  it  is  one  of  those  discoveries  which,  when  stripped 
of  all  the  charlatanerie  that  surrounds  them,  will  show 
but  a  very  meagre  portion  of  truth."  Dr.  Barber,  an 
Englishman,  and  a  somewhat  noted  teacher  of  elocution, 
having  been  converted  to  the  phrenological  faith,  deliv 
ered  certain  magniloquent  lectures  on  the  same  to  the 
citizens  of  New  Haven,  and  took  pay  therefor,  after  the 
manner  of  his  sect.  Percival  responded  with  a  sharp 
newspaper  pasquinade,  entitled  "Lecture  Extraordinary 
on  Nosology."  The  following  is  the  article,  reprinted 
entire  from  the  Daily  Herald  of  August  17,  1833. 


"LECTURE  EXTRAORDINARY  ON  NOSOLOGY. 
"  Tickets  not  Transferable! 

"  Gentlemen !  the  nose  is  the  most  prominent  feature 
in  this  bill. 

*O  Nour  KCIT  dXrjdes  ffrpevfs. 

'  The  nose  is  the  true  seat  of  mind.' 

And,  therefore,  gentlemen,  nosology,  or  the  science  of  the 
nose,  is  the  true  phrenology. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.  SHEPARD.     409 

"  He  who  knows  his  nose  foreknows ;  for  he  knows 
that  which  is  before  him.  Therefore  nosology  is  the 
surest  guide  to  conduct. 

"  Whatever  progress  an  individual  may  make,  his  nose 
is  always  in  advance.  But  society  is  only  a  congeries  of 
individuals,  —  consequently  its  nose  is  always  in  advance, 
therefore  its  proper  guide. 

"  The  nose,  rightly  understood,  will  most  assuredly  work 
wonders  in  the  cause  of  improvement;  for  it  is  always 
going  ahead,  always  first  in  every  undertaking,  always 
soonest  at  the  goal. 

"  The  ancients  did  not  neglect  the  nose.  Look  at  their 
busts  and  statues !  What  magnification  and  abduction  in 
Jove !  What  insinuation  and  elongation  in  the  Apollo 
(e/<»7|3oAo?)  !  Then  nous  (intellect)  was  surely  the  nose ; 
gnosis  (knowledge),  noses ;  and  Minos,  my  nose.  Well 
might  the  great  judge,  when  regarding  this  most  promi 
nent  member  of  his  judgment-seat,  exclaim, — '  My  nose  ! 
Ecce  Homo  ! ' 

"  Gentlemen  !  here  is  a  bad  nose,  —  a  very  bad  nose. 
What  intussusception,  what  potation,  and,  as  a  necessary 
consequence,  alas !  what  rubification !  But  I  have  seen 
such  noses,  ah  !  yes,  many  such  noses  !  Beware  of  them  ! 
They  are  bad  noses,  —  very  bad  noses,  I  assure  you ! 

"  Gentlemen !  when  you  choose  your  partners  for  life, 
look  out  for  the  nose.  Beware  of  too  great  penetration 
and  Romanotion,  if  you  would  not  be  henpecked  by  the 
one  or  butted  by  the  other.  O  yes,  —  look  out  for  the  nose. 

"  Do  not,  I  pray  you,  consider  me  by  any  means  irrev 
erent,  if  I  say  that  nosology  will  prove  highly  favorable 
to  the  cause  of  religion.  This  is  indeed  an  awful  subject, 
and  I  would  not  touch  it  on  slight  grounds  ;  but  I  sincerely 
believe  that  what  I  say  is  true,  —  nosology  will  prove 
18 


410  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [CHAP.  XVIII. 

highly  favorable  to  the  cause  of  religion !  Does  not  the 
nose  stand  forth  like  a  watchman  on  the  walls  of  Zion,  on 
the  lookout  for  all  assailants ;  and  when  our  faces  are 
directed  upwards  in  devotion,  does  not  the  nose  ascend  the 
highest,  and  most  especially  tend  heavenwards  ? 

"  Nosology,  too,  has  a  very  important  bearing  on  the 
great  law  of  descent ;  that  law,  which,  like  the  lever  of 
Archimedes,  will  lift  the  world.  Is  not  the  nose  the  chief 
seat  of  all  defluxions,  and  what  are  defluxions  but  &  flow 
ing  down  by  the  great  law  of  descent  ?  Who  shall  gain 
say  it? 

"  This  system  of  nosology  was  first  concocted  by  Dr. 
Schnorr;  then  perfected  by  Dr.  Sclmieser;  and  is  now 
being  retailed  by  your  humble  servant  at  command,  Dr. 
Schaefer,  —  all  from  the  promontory  of  noses ;  all  genuine 
descendants  of  the  Man  with  the  Nose. 

"  But,  mark  me,  gentlemen !  nosology  is  being  retailed 
free  gratis.  The  citizens  of  New  Haven  need  not  there 
fore  fear,  that  some  eight  or  nine  hundred  dollars  will 
thereby  escape  from  their  pockets  within  a  few  weeks. 
Dr.  Schaefer  does  not  shave,  whatever  his  name  would 
seem  to  indicate. 

"  Nosology  is  a  manly  science.  It  stands  out  in  the 
open  light.  It  does  not  conceal  itself  behind  scratches 
and  periwigs ;  nor  does  it,  like  certain  false  teachers, 
mentioned  by  St.  Paul,  go  about  from  house  to  house, 
leading  astray  silly  women. 

"  Finally,  gentlemen !  you  may  rest  assured  that  nosol 
ogy  will  not  quietly  submit  to  insult.  Noli  me  tangere! 
Who  ever  endured  a  tweak  of  the  nose  ?  It  will  know 
how  to  take  vengeance.  As  Jupiter  metamorphosed  the 
inhospitable  Lycians  into  frogs,  so  its  contemners  will 
suddenly  find  themselves  /3ap/3upo$o>j/oi  / 


2Et.  40.. 


]    REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.   SHEPARD.     411 


"  Gentlemen,  permit  me  to  exhibit  to  you  a  nosological 
table,  in  which  all  the  organs  are  exactly  local-  A  nosoiogi- 
ized.     Such  of  you  as  are  desirous  of  a  copy  cal  t! 
will  be  furnished  by  your  humble  servant  on  the  most 
reasonable  terms  ;    and  I  would  advise  you  all  to  procure 
a  copy,  especially  for  my  advantage. 


"NOSOLOGICAL  TABLE. 


"1. 

2. 
3. 
4. 
5. 
6. 
7. 
8. 
9. 
10. 
11. 
12. 
13. 

Penetration. 
Intussusception, 
Abduction. 
Alimentation. 
Contemplation. 
Inhalation. 
Potation. 
Elongation. 
Interpunction. 
Compunction. 
Function. 
Mediation. 
Coalition. 

14.  Consolidation. 
15.  Romanotion. 
16.  Magnification. 
17.  Insinuation. 
18.  Angulation. 
19.  Nullification. 
20.  Revision. 
21.  Secession. 
22.  Mystification. 
23.  Obtenebration. 
24.  Substantiation. 
25.  Rubification 
(accidental  organ).' 

*  This  is  a  satirical  sally  in  another  vein. 

"John  Neal  is  edifying  the  public,  in  his  Yankee,  with  his  usual  free- 
and-easy  remarks  on  all  our  literary  characters,  and  that,  too,  without 
seeming  to  care  where  or  how  he  hits.  We  believe  Neal  has  talents, 
but  not  enough  to  authorize  him  to  assume  such  a  dictatorship  over 
authors.  He  has  no  genius,  or  if  he  has,  it  has  run  wild  without  curb  or 
rein.  Genius  should  be  capable  of  continued  and  lofty  enthusiasm.  It 
should  fix  upon  the  sun,  and  soar  to  it  by  one  long  and  steady  flight.  It 


should  imitate  the  strong-eyed  eagle.    Neal  may  be  an  eagle,  but  he 


412  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [CHAP.  XVIII. 

Percival  has  been  thought  over-tenacious  of  his  opin- 
His  tenacity  i°ns'  He  was  certainly  very  circumspect  in 
of  opinion,  changing  them.  I  have  witnessed,  however, 
several  instances  in  which  he  yielded  to  the  force  of  evi 
dence  in  the  modification  of  his  views.  He  seemed  to 
recognize  geology,  in  particular,  as  a  progressive  science, 
in  which  new  facts  are  constantly  accruing,  and  therefore 
compelling  readaptations  of  our  views.  He  felt,  indeed,  in 
respect  to  all  knowledge,  the  mathematics  excepted,  that 
modifications  of  belief,  in  well-regulated  minds,  are  una 
voidable,  as  the  result  of  new  information.  Approach 
to  higher  truth  through  the  sciences  he  seemed  to  regard 
under  the  aspect  of  that  of  besiegers  to  a  beleaguered 
fortress.  Principles  and  deductions,  which  were  a  boon 
and  a  triumph  for  us  yesterday,  lose  their  value  to-day, 
when  a  new  parallel  of  approach  has  been  attained.  He 

is  an  eagle  with  his  eyes  put  out,  soaring,  sinking,  dashing,  fluttering, 
now  up,  now  down,  now  here,  now  there,  criss-cross,  every  way. 


"  We  will  now  consider  this  sketch  on  a  perpendicular  plane,  to 
accommodate  it  to  the  eagle;  but  only  reduce  it  to  a  horizontal  plane, 
and  it  will  suit  a  figure  perhaps  more  applicable  to  his  excellency, 
namely,  that  of  an  owl  lost  in  the  sunshine,  driving  after  all  the  little 
sparrows,  and  all  the  little  sparrows  chirping  afrer  him;  bumping 
against  a  stump,  thumping  against  a  hemlock,  knocking  against  a  rail 
fence,  and  last  of  all,  we  fear,  beating  his  brains  out  against  the  breast 
of  the  bold  eagle.  To  speak  our  mind  freely,  we  think  the  Yankee, 
with  all  its  boldness  and  cleverness,  is  the  most  egregious  piece  of 
humbug  that  was  ever  put  off  upon  a  gullible  public. 

"A.  B.  C." 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.  SHEPARD.     413 

lost  his  interest  in  what  was  abandoned,  necessary  as  it 
had  been  to  the  present  position,  only  in  the  advantage  of 
which,  and  its  sure  promise  of  what  was  still  higher,  he 
allowed  himself  to  rejoice. 

But  where  evidence  was  wanting,  he  was  never  to  be 
moved  to  a  change  by  any  amount  of  importu-  Dr  Noah 
nity  or  temptation.  This  trait  of  character  made  Webster- 
him  somewhat  impracticable  as  a  collaborator  in  the  philo 
logical  task  he  was  employed  to  perform  under  Dr.  Noah 
Webster.  Disagreements  were  to  have  been  anticipated 
from  the  striking  contrasts  in  their  minds.  They  agreed 
in  industry ;  but  Webster  was  decided,  practical,  strongly 
self-reliant,  and  always  satisfied  with  doing  the  best  that 
could  be  done  with  the  time  and  means  at  command. 
Percival  was  timid  and  cautious,  and,  from  the  very 
breadth  of  his  linguistic  attainments,  undecided.  He  often 
craved  more  time  for  arriving  at  conclusions.  When  he 
happened  to  differ  from  the  great  lexicographer,  he  would 
never  yield  an  iota  of  his  ground.  These  differences  led 
to  an  early  rupture  in  the  engagement,  almost  before  two 
letters  of  the  alphabet  had  been  completed.  He  much 
preferred  to  relinquish  a  profitable  undertaking  to  going 
forward  with  it  under  circumstances  not  agreeable  to  his 
elevated  standard  of  literary  accuracy  and  completeness. 
He  felt  that  he  could  live  on  bread  and  water,  or  even 
give  up  these,  if  necessary ;  but  he  could  not  violate  his 
convictions  of  what  was  true  and  right.  He  was  a 
perfect  martyr  to  his  literary  and  scientific  conscientious 
ness. 

He  evinced  the  same  spirit  in  respect  to  the  geological 
survey.     As    his    mind    was    not    satisfied,    he  The  geoiogi- 
would  not  make  known  his  results  to  the  Legis-  cal  survey- 
lature.     They  demanded  the  Report,  and  he  asked  for  an 


414  JAMES    GATES    P  ER  CIV  A  L.  [CHAP.  XVIII. 

extension  of  time.  Thus  he  continued  his  labors  from 
year  to  year  upon  a  stipend  scarcely  adequate  to  cover 
his  expenses.  Instead,  however,  of  nearing  the  goal,  he 
only  receded  from  it.  New  difficulties  met  him  in  the 
work ;  fresh  questions  arose,  in  the  progress  of  geology 
itself,  that  called  for  re-examinations.  His  notes  swelled 
to  volumes,  and  his  specimens  increased  to  thousands. 
He  was  in  danger  of  being  crushed  under  the  weight  of 
his  doubts  and  his  materials.  At  la>t,  the  people  clam 
ored  for  the  end  of  the  work.  The  Legislature  became 
peremptory,  and  forced  Percival  to  acquiesce.  In  1842 
(seven  years  from  the  commencement  of  the  survey),  he 
rendered  an  octavo  Report  of  four  hundred  and  ninety-five 
pages,  in  the  Introduction  to  which  he  observes  :  "  I  re 
gret  to  say,  I  have  not  had  the  means  allowed  me  for  addi 
tional  investigations,  nor  even  for  a  proper  use  of  my  ma 
terials,  either  notes  or  specimens.  The  number  of  locali 
ties  from  which  I  have  collected  specimens  I  have  esti 
mated  at  nearly  eight  thousand ;  the  records  of  dips  and 
bearings  are  still  more  numerous.  The  Report  which  fol 
lows  is  but  a  hasty  outline,  written  mainly  from  recollec 
tion,  with  only  occasional  reference  to  my  materials,  and 
under  circumstances  little  calculated  for  cool  considera 
tion.  It  was  written,  however,  with  an  intention  to  state 
nothing  of  the  truth  or  probability  of  which  I  did  not  feel 
satisfied.  None  can  regret  more  than  I  do  its  imperfec 
tion  ;  still  I  cannot  but  hope  that  it  will  contribute  some 
thing  towards  the  solution  of  the  problem  of  the  highest 
practical  as  well  as  scientific  importance,  the  exact  deter 
mination  of  the  geological  system  of  the  State." 

Of  this  remarkable  production  it  may  very  briefly  be 
Remarks       said,  that  it  will  ever  remain  a  monument  to  the 

upon  his 

Report.        scientific  and  literary  powers  of  its  author.     It 


REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.  SHEPARD.     415 

describes  every  shade  of  variation  in  the  different  rocks, 
and  their  exact  distribution  over  the  surface  of  the  State. 
This  it  accomplishes  with  a  minuteness  never  before 
essayed  in  any  similar  work.  The  closeness  and  brevity 
of  his  descriptions  make  it  one  of  the  driest  productions 
ever  issued  on  geological  science,  scarcely  omitting  the 
work  of  Hurnboldt,  in  which  he  sought  to  represent  the 
whole  of  geology  by  algebraic  symbols.  Percival's  work 
actually  demands,  and  would  richly  repay,  a  translation 
into  the  vernacular  of  descriptive  geology,  —  the  language 
and  mode  of  illustration  employed  by  Murchison  and 
Hitchcock.  In  its  present  form,  it  is  safe  to  say,  it  has 
never  found  a  single  reader  among  the  persons  for  whose 
benefit  it  was  written. 

It  is  no  part  of  my  plan  to  speak  of  his  poetical  repu 
tation.  This  I  leave  to  others  better  able  to  do  him  jus 
tice.  Indeed,  he  had  nearly  abandoned  poetical  composi 
tion  before  our  acquaintance  began.  But  it  is  safe,  per 
haps,  to  say  here,  that  his  writings  have  placed  him  among 
the  first  of  our  national  poets ;  and  had  he  resumed  this 
species  of  composition,  he  could  scarcely  have  failed  of 
maintaining,  in  the  fullest  manner,  his  poetic  fame.  He 
possessed  all  the  qualities  reckoned  essential  to  poetical 
excellence.  We  have  already  spoken  of  his  astonishing 
memory,  a  trait  regarded  of  such  importance  to  the  poet 
by  the  ancients  as  to  have  led  them  to  call  the  Muses  the 
daughters  of  this  mental  faculty.  His  powers  of  abstrac 
tion  and  imagination  were  no  less  remarkable,  —  while 
for  extreme  sensitiveness  he  was  unsurpassed.  His  judg 
ment  was  clear,  and  his  appreciation  of  language  refined 
to  the  last  degree.  His  musical  feeling,  too,  as  well  of 
time  as  of  harmony,  was  intense ;  while  he  had  at  com 
mand  the  universal  stores  of  literature  and  science. 


416  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XVIII. 

In  closing  these  reminiscences,  I  cannot  avoid  noticing 
His  impres-  some  of  the  useful  impressions  exerted  by  Per- 
thTiKiy  cival  upon  the  literary  community  amidst  which 

community.     he    pagged    &Q    ^^    ^    portion    Qf  hig    life>       TQ 

some  the  influence  of  such  a  recluse  will  doubtless  seem 
insignificant.  The  reverse,  however,  I  am  persuaded, 
was  the  fact.  Few  students  came  to  New  Haven  without 
bringing  with  them,  imprinted  on  their  youthful  memo 
ries,  some  beautiful  line  of  his  poetry.  Few  had  not 
heard  of  his  universal  scholarship  and  profound  learning. 
Next  to  an  acquaintance  with  the  teachers  from  whom 
they  expected  to  derive  their  educational  training,  their 
curiosity  led  them  to  inquire  for  Percival.  The  sight  of 
this  modest,  shrinking  individual,  as  the  possessor  of  such 
mines  of  intellectual  wealth,  it  may  well  be  understood, 
produced  the  deepest  interest.  In  him  they  recognized  a 
man  superior  to  the  clamor  of  vulgar  gratification ;  his 
indifference  to  gain,  to  luxury,  and  every  form  of  display, 
his  constant  preference  of  the  spiritual  over  the  sensual, 
was  always  an  impressive  example  to  them.  The  indi 
gent  student  took  fresh  courage  as  he  saw  in  him  to  what 
a  narrow  compass  exterior  wants  might  be  reduced  ;  the 
man  of  fashion  and  the  fop  stood  abashed  before  the  sim 
plicity  of  his  dress  and  daily  life.  And  wherever  the 
spirit  of  classic  literature  had  been  imbibed,  and  the  ca 
pacity  acquired  of  perceiving  the  severe  worth  of  the  true 
philosopher,  the  inspection  of  such  a  character,  compared 
with  the  mere  description  of  it  in  history,  was  like  the 
difference  between  a  statue  and  a  living,  breathing  man. 
As  at  early  dawn  or  in  the  gray  twilight  his  slender  form 
glided  by,  the  thoughtful  and  poetic  scholar  could  scarce 
refrain  from  uttering  to  himself,  —  "  There  goes  Diogenes 
or  Chrysippus!  There  goes  one,  by  the  side  of  whom 


2Et?4b.]    REMINISCENCES  OF  PROF.  SHEPAED.     417 

many  a  bustler  in  letters  is  only  a  worthless  drone,  many 
an  idolized  celebrity  a  weak  and  pitiful  sham  ! "  Such  a 
character  as  Percival's,  in  the  presence  of  a  scholastic 
community,  was  a  perpetual  incentive  to  industry  and 
manliness ;  and  although  he  rarely  spoke  in  its  hearing, 
and  has  left  us  fewer  published  works  than  many  others, 
still  I  believe  that  thousands  yet  live  to  thank  him  for  les 
sons  derived  from  the  simple  survey  of  his  daily  life. 

Though  there  is  little  likelihood  that  his  example  of 
self-abnegation  and  devotion  to  study  will  be  followed  by 
many  of  our  youth,  nevertheless,  the  occurrence  of  such 
a  model  now  and  then  in  the  republic  of  letters  His  life  a 
constitutes  a  pleasing  as  well  as  useful  phenom-  phenomenon 
enon,  —  if  for  no  other  reason,  because  it  breaks  m  letters- 
in  upon  the  monotony  of  literary  biography,  and  commu 
nicates  a  portion  of  that  picturesqueness  to  scholastic  life 
which  belongs  to  nature  in  everything  else.  That  his 
course  was  fraught  with  happiness  to  himself  cannot  be 
doubted ;  that  it  was  beneficial  also  to  his  fellow-men  is 
equally  true;  and  though  he  may  be  judged  less  leni 
ently  by  minds  incapable  of  pronouncing  that  to  be  a 
character  honorable  in  the  sight  of  God  or  man  which 
deviates  from  their  own  standard  or  creed,  —  to  others, 
who  recognize  the  highest  possible  cultivation  of  the  men 
tal  faculties  and  unsullied  purity  of  life  as  the  noblest  ends 
of  our  being,  he  will  ever  occupy  a  position  shared  by 
few  of  mortal  race. 

CHARLES   U.    SHEPARD. 

A  letter  kindly  furnished  by  Professor  James  D.  Dana 
of  Yale  happily  completes  both  the  chapter  and  the 
subject. 

18*  AA 


418  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [CHAP.  XVIII. 

TO  THE  EDITOR. 

NEW  HAVEN,  November  6,  1865. 

MY  DEAR  SIR, — 

In  compliance  with  my  promise  I  send  you  my  opinion 
of  Percival  as  the  Connecticut  geologist. 

In  the  expression  Percival  the  geologist,  few  will  rec- 
Letter  of  Pro-  ognize  a  reference  to  Percival  the  poet :  and 

fessor  Dana       ° 

cm  Percival  yet,  in  my  opinion,  no  one  m  the  country  has 
gist.  done  better  work  in  geology  or  work  of  greater 

value  to  the  science.  His  Geological  Report  on  the  State 
of  Connecticut  is  certainly  the  most  unpoetical  of  works, 
it  containing  not  even  the  most  obvious  deductions  from 
his  observations.  But  Percival  had  not  finished  his  sur 
vey  to  his  own  satisfaction  (which  perhaps  he  never  would 
have  done  with  such  views  as  he  held  of  accuracy  and  per 
fection  in  research),  when  he  was  called  upon  for  his 
Report;  and,  being  unwilling  in  his  sincerity  to  nature 
to  put  forward  so  soon  any  inferences  of  his  own,  he  pub 
lished  only  the  bare  facts  arranged  in  their  driest  geo 
graphical  order.  Yet  in  this  dry  detail,  and  the  admirable 
map  accompanying  the  volume,  there  is  not  only  testimony 
to  assiduous  labor,  but  an  exhibition  of  results  sufficient 
to  teach  philosophy  to  the  mind  capable  of  appreciating 
them.  The  practical  or  mineralogical  part  of  the  survey 
was  in  the  hands  of  Professor  C.  U.  Shepard,  leaving  to 
Percival  the  topographical  and  general  geology. 

On  entering  upon  his  duties,  Percival  saw  before  him 
'The  work  two  great  problems  :  first,  the  character  and 

before  him.      orjgjn    Qf  ft^    trap  ri<]geg    Qf   the    gtate?  sucn    ag 

East  and  West  Rocks  near  New  Haven,  the  Hanging 
Hills  of  Meriden,  and  other  similar  heights  to  the  north 


JiS^.]         A    LETTER    FROM    PROF.    DANA.  419 

and  south,  —  a  most  striking  feature  throughout  Central 
Connecticut ;  and,  secondly,  the  characters  and  origin  of 
the  granitic  series  of  rocks  which  prevail  through  all  the 
rest  of  the  State.  Having  lived  from  his  youth*  among 
the  trap  hills,  the  first  of  these  departments  of  the  Survey 
engaged  his  earliest  and  longest  attention,  and  was  most 
nearly  completed. 

It  was  the  supposition  of  older  geologists  that  West 
Rock  near  New  Haven,  and  Mount  Tom  in  Massachu 
setts,  were  parts  of  one  continuous  trap  range.  His  ob 
servations  early  showed  that  this  was  wholly  an  error ; 
that  there  was  no  one  line  ;  that,  on  the  contrary,  many 
ranges  existed  having  the  same  general  north  and  south 
course ;  and,  moreover,  that  each  was  made  up  of  a  series 
of  isolated  parts.  These  trap  rocks  of  Connecticut,  as  has 
been  well  proved,  and  as  was  early  indicated  by  Professor 
Sillirnan,  are  intrusive  or  igneous  rocks,  —  rocks  that  fill 
fractures  of  the  earth's  crust,  having  come  up  in  a  melted 
state  from  the  earth's  interior  at  the  time  when  the  frac 
tures  were  made ;  and  hence  Percival's  observations 
proved  that  there  had  been,  not  one  long-continuous  frac 
ture  through  the  State  from  New  Haven  to  the  regions 
of  Mount  Tom  and  beyond  for  the  ejections  of  liquid  trap 
rock,  but  instead,  a  series  of  openings  along  a  common 
line,  and  that  there  were  several  such  lines  running  a 
nearly  parallel  course  over  a  broad  region  of  country. 
He  also  found  that  the  ridges  which  compose  a  range  do 
not  always  lie  directly  in  the  same  line,  but  that  often  the 
parts  which  follow  one  another  are  successively  to  the 
east  of  one  another,  or  to  the  west,  (en  echelon,  as  the 
French  style  it ;)  and  further,  that  the  parts  of  the  com 
ponent  ridges  of  a  range  were  often  curved  or  a  succes 
sion  of  curving  lines.  He  discovered,  too,  that  in  the 


420  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.  [CHAP.  XVIII. 

region  of  the  Meriden  Hanging  Hills  the  trap  ridges  take 
a  singular  east  and  west  bend  across  the  great  central 
valley  of  the  State,  —  a  course  wholly  at  variance  with 
the  old  notions. 

The  work  which  he  accomplished  was,  in  the  first  place, 
What  he  ac-  «n  extended  topographical  survey  of  his  portion 
compiished.  of  the  gtate.  and)  secondly,  a  thorough  examina 
tion  of  the  structure  and  relations  of  the  trap  ridges,  with 
also  those  of  the  associated  sandstone.  And  it  brought 
out,  as  its  grand  result,  a  system  of  general  truths  with 
regard  to  the  fractures  of  the  earth's  crust  which,  as  geol 
ogists  are  beginning  to  see,  are  th^  very  same  that  are 
fundamental  in  the  constitution  of  mountain  chains.  For 
this  combination  of  many  approximately  parallel  lines  of 
ranges  in  one  system,  the  composite  structure  of  the 
several  ranges,  and  the  en  echelon,  or  advancing  and 
retreating  arrangement  of  the  successive  ridges  of  a 
range,  are  common  features  of  mountain  chains.  The 
earth's  great  mountains  and  the  trap  ranges  of  Central 
New  England  are  results  of  subterranean  forces  acting 
upon  the  earth's  crust  according  to  common  laws.  The 
State  of  Connecticut,  through  the  mind  and  labors  of  Per- 
cival,  has  contributed  the  best  and  fullest  exemplification 
of  the  laws  yet  obtained,  and  thus  prepared  the  way  for 
a  correct  understanding  of  the  great  features  of  the 
globe. 

The  red  sandstone  rocks  of  the  region  teach  that,  in 
mediaeval  geological  time,  the  waters  made  a  continuous 
estuary  from  New  Haven,  on  Long  Island  Sound,  to 
Northern  Massachusetts,  —  one  continuous  Connecticut 
River,  or  ep-tuary,  with  New  Haven  as  its  southern  ter 
minus.  The  question  then  suggests  itself,  why  does  not 
the  river  flow  now  in  this  Connecticut  valley  down  to 


J,?5V.]         A    LETTER    FROM    PROF.    DANA.  421 

New  Haven  Bay.  PercivaVs  investigations  afford  the 
answer,  although  he  has  not  suggested  it.  He  shows  on 
his  map,  as  observed  above,  that  the  trap  ridges  make  a 
nearly  east  and  west  course  across  the  valley  in  the  region 
of  the  Meriden  Hills,  just  opposite  the  spot  where  the 
Connecticut  River  takes  its  eastern  bend.  Evidently  the 
making  of  these  hills,  that  is,  the  rending  of  the  earth's 
crust,  the  ejection  of  the  melted  trap  rock,  and  the  accom 
panying  uplifting  of  the  surface,  might  well  have  forced 
the  river  out  of  its  older  course,  and,  without  a  doubt,  it 
so  did ;  and  thus  New  Haven  lost  its  great  river. 

Percival  pursued  his  second  subject,  that  of  the  granitic 
rocks,  with  similar  fidelity,  and  mapped  out  with  care  the 
several  formations.  The  State,  however,  was  too  large 
for  the  satisfactory  completion  of  the  survey  in  the  short 
time  allotted  to  it.  The  subject,  besides,  was  vastly  more 
complex  and  difficult  than  that  of  the  trap  ridges  and  the 
associated  sandstone.  He  began  the  work  well,  but  had 
to  leave  it  for  some  future  observer  to  finish. 

With  regard  to  these   rocks,  his  mind  became  early 

entangled  with  a  theory,  bold  and  COOlprehen- HlB^lilldeo- 
,  ,.,  •  •      i       •     ••    i         tangled  by  a 

sive,  and  likely  to  captivate  a  poetical  mind,  but  theory. 
one  which  geological  science  has  never  favored.  It  was, 
however,  with  him,  only  an  incentive  to  more  scrutinizing 
research.  He  thought  of  it  and  talked  about  it  at 
great  length  at  times,  with  his  one  or  two  friends  who 
had  ears  for  such  subjects.  But  his  speculations  nowhere 
appear  in  his  Report. 

His  labors,  moreover,  were  not  without  practical  results ; 
for  he  was  the  first  to  explain   correctly  the  practicai 
origin  of  the  iron-ore  beds  of  Kent,  and  similar  results- 
beds  in  the  Green  Mountain  range. 

It  is  greatly  to  be  desired  that  the  biography  you  have 


422  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.    [CHAP.  XVIII. 

in  hand  should  contain  the  map*  of  Connecticut,  which 
illustrates  his  Geological  Report.  With  but  brief  expla 
nations,  especially  if  the  trap  ridges  and  dikes  were  col 
ored,  it  would  give  to  the  reader  the  grander  results  of 
the  survey,  which  few  are  acquainted  with,  even  among 
those  that  are  especially  interested  in  such  subjects, 
because  of  the  limited  edition  of  the  Report  published  by 
the  State. 

Yours  very  truly, 

JAMES  D.  DANA. 

*  On  account  of  the  cumbersome  form  in  which  this  map  was 
printed,  it  cannot  easily  be  reproduced. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

1836-1843. 

STUDIES  IN  TRANSLATION.  —  A  MUSICAL  POET.  —  His  INTEREST  IN 
POLITICS  AND  WHIG  SONGS.  —  ODE  TO  OLE  BULL.  —  HUMOROUS 
POETRY.  —  THE  DREAM  OF  A  DAY  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

|E  have  already  seen  that  the  study  of  lan 
guages  was  with  Percival  an  all-absorbing 
pursuit.  Long  before  the  Survey  began,  and 
then  again  so  soon  as  leisure  came  to  him,  he 
occupied  himself  in  making  translations  from  the  modern 
European  languages.  In  February,  1836,  Mrs.  Theresa 
Robinson,  wife  of  the  late  Dr.  Edward  Robinson,  and 
known  in  literature  under  the  pseudonyme  of  Assists  Mrs. 

*  Robinson  in 

"  Talvi,"  wrote  to  him  for  assistance  in  versify-  translating 

Russian 

ing  specimens  of  Russian  popular  poetry  for  poetry. 
her  volume  on  the  Literature  of  the  Slavic  Nations,  pub 
lished  in  1850.  He  had  already  published  a  few  such 
specimens,  and  her  request  was  exceedingly  gratifying  to 
him  as  an  evidence  of  her  appreciation  of  his  translations. 
He  very  readily  assented  to  her  request,  and  attempted  an 
answer  to  her  letter  in  German,  but  this  impeding  the  ex 
pression  of  his  thoughts,  he  returned  to  the  English.  The 
cordiality  of  his  letter  is  unusual ;  and  as  it  contains  his 
views  of  translation,  a  portion  of  it  deserves  quotation  :  — 
"  Did  I  not  feel  myself  restrained  by  the  circumstances 
which  I  have  so  poorly  attempted  to  explain  A  letter  to 
above  in  German,  I  should  now  with  the  great-  htT> 


424  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIX. 

est  satisfaction  engage  you  my  services.  As  it  is,  I  am 
not  willing  entirely  to  refuse  you  the  little  aid  I  may  ren 
der  you.  If  you  will  allow  me,  at  all  events,  the  delay  I 
have  asked,  and  will  take  this  as  an  expression  of  my 
willingness  to  use  my  best  endeavors  to  comply  with  your 
request,  but  will  at  the  same  time  prepare  yourself  for 
the  contingency  of  a  disappointment,  I  will  hold  myself 
ready  to  improve  the  first  opportunity  to  accomplish  what 
you  desire.  Still  I  may  fail ;  or  if  I  do  not,  I  may  do  the 
task  in  a  manner  unworthy  of  or  unsuited  to  your  volume. 
My  views  of  translation  may  not  coincide  with  yours. 
His  priaci-  My  first  principle  is  that  the  version  be  recht 

pies  in  trans 
lation,  treu  ;  —  my  second,    that  it  be  recht  gut :  that 

is,  I  had  rather  it  be  strictly  faithful,  though  a  little  in 
ferior  in  composition,  than  that  it  be  perfect  as  a  compo 
sition,  yet  unfaithful  to  the  original.  I  have  applied  these 
principles  in  several  translations  that  I  have  published  in 
one  of  the  New  Haven  newspapers,  copies  of  which  I 
sent  to  Professor  Ticknor  and  Dr.  George  Hayward.  I 
particularly  refer  to  a  series  of  translations  from  Goetze's 
'Stirnmen'  ("  Russian  Popular  Poetry'),  also  a  translation 
of  Burger's  '  Lenora,'  and  one  of  Goethe's  '  Wanderer.' 
These  articles  were  less  finished  than  they  might  have 
been,  without  sacrificing  fidelity,  still  they  illustrate  the 
method  I  should  choose  to  adopt  in  translation." 

The  volume  contained  four  specimens  from  his  pen,  in 
the  department  of  Russian  Popular  Poetry,  two  of  which, 
"  The  Boyar's  Execution  "  and  "  The  Dove,"  he  had  al 
ready  published  in  the  Connecticut  Herald.  At  the  close 
of  the  letter,  he  says :  "  My  time  has  been  so  occupied 
the  year  past  with  other  pursuits,  that  I  have  made  little 
progress  in  literature." 

These  studies  in  translation  had  been  the  occupation  of 


STUDIES    IN    TRANSLATION.  425 

leisure  hours  from  the  time  of  his  earliest  publication,  in 
which  there  were  adaptations  from  Virgil  and  stu,iies  in 
Anacreon.  With  Homer  and  ^schylus  we  trauslation- 
have  seen  him  already  familiar ;  but  from  the  year  1827, 
onward,  he  became  more  engaged  in  these  exercises  than 
in  the  composition  of  original  verse.  The  New  Haven 
newspapers  were  the  medium  through  which  he  gave 
them  to  the  public,  and  there  is  every  evidence  that  they 
soothed  and  rested  him  when  his  labors  were  unusually 
exacting,  or  when  he  suffered  from  want  of  employment 
and  poverty.  They  embrace  a  wide  field.  In  1827, 1828, 
they  ranged  from  Goethe  and  Schiller  to  Anacreon  and 
Sappho,  or  to  Tasso  and  Filicaia.  The  byways  of  ancient 
literature  were  searched  for  their  choicest  bits,  and  these 
enriched  the  corners  of  the  papers.  In  a  manuscript 
paper  of  translations  from  the  Greek  and  other  languages, 
he  says:  "In  the  summer  of  1823,  about  the  time 
when  engaged  on  the  Prometheus,  and  while  reading 
Voss's  hexameter  translation,  I  amused  myself  with  ren 
dering  select  passages  from  Homer  in  English  hexam 
eters,  not  without  some  self-gratification,  and  with,  at  the 
time,  the  encouraging  approbation  of  Professor  Kingsley." 
Then  follow  abundant  specimens  of  these  translations.* 
In  another  part  of  the  same  paper  he  remarks :  "  I  here 
introduce  a  series  of  translations  from  the  Lyric  Xen/mi/a, 
the  first  eight  of  which  were  done  in  1827.  The  old 
Greek  Lyric  Xctyaiw,  though  only  fragments,  a  few 
words  or  lines  (at  most)  shine  out  from  the  rubbish  of 
ages,  like  diamond  dust  amid  the  dull,  opaque  cascalhos. 
I  have  selected  them  partly  for  their  natural  expression 
of  feeling,  and  partly  for  their  felicity  of  diction.  In 
reading  these  fragments,  one  cannot  but  imagine  that  the 
*  Appendix  H. 


426  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XIX. 

whole,  of  which  they  form  but  a  scanty  remnant,  must  have 
been  richly  teeming  with  all  the  finer  qualities  of  poetry, 
—  feeling,  beauty  of  imagery  and  language,  and  true 
living  expression.  But  we  have  only  these  wrecks,  cast 
out  like  scattered  remains  of  a  broken  ship  freighted  with 
the  jewels  and  stuffs  of  '  gorgeous  Iiid,'  or  '  with  Sabsean 
incense  from  Araby  the  blest.'  Have  they  perished  from 
the  silent  neglect  of  time,  or  were  they  at  once  extermi 
nated  by  the  violence  of  tasteless  bigotry  ?  "  Other  se 
lections  here  given  are  from  the  Swedish,  Russian,  Danish, 
and  the  Low  Dutch,  all  of  which  have  never  been  printed 
until  now.  But  those  from  Homer  have  most  finish  and 
beauty ;  and  they  at  once,  in  the  hands  of  a  master,  con 
quer  success  for  the  hexameter  verse.  His  purchases  of 
books  at  this  time  were  almost  entirely  those  relating  to 
foreign  languages.  In  the  years  1840,  1841,  the  result  of 
his  studies  among  them,  when  the  severer  labors  of  the 
ecological  survey  were  suspended,  came  out 

His  excerpts.  &  ,,.,-,.        ,        T^    -i 

in  a  series  of  excerpts,  published  in  the  Daily 
Herald  and  Church  Chronicle  from  the  three  leading 
groups  of  European  languages,  —  the  Slavonic,  the  Ger 
manic,  the  Romanic.  Each  of  these  groups  embraces 
four  languages  :  the  Slavonic,  —  Polish,  Russian,  Ser 
vian,  Bohemian  ;  the  Germanic,  —  German,  Low  Dutch, 
Danish,  Swedish  ;  the  Romanic,  —  Italian,  Spanish,  Por 
tuguese,  French.  These  excerpts  are  somewhat  freely 
translated,  and  one  or  two  specimens  are  given  from  each 
language,  prefaced  by  introductory  notes  and  criticisms.* 
He  was  now  greatly  interested  in  music,  and  this  in 
terest  was  deepened  by  his  connection  with  the  New 
Music  and  Haven  Sin^-Song  Club,  a  company  who  met  to 

the  Sing-  .  .  .         TT 

Song  oiub.     sing   n  big  songs  in  the  exciting  Harrison  cam- 
*  Appendix  I. 


STUDIES    IN    TRANSLATION.  427 

paign  of  1840.  To  these  he  addressed  a  series  of  trans 
lations  from  the  German  song-writers,  accompanied,  as 
in  the  case  of  the  excerpts,  with  valuable  notes.  The 
following  is  his  introductory  address  to  the  Club :  — 


"TO  THE  NEW  HAVEN  SING-SONG  CLUB. 

"  I  propose  to  open  to  you,  in  a  lot  of  old  German  an 
nuals,  a  mine  of  old  German  music,  which  may  riot  be 
unworthy  your  attention.  The  poetry  is  much  of  it  from 
first-rate  hands,  and  many  pieces  of  less  distinguished 
authors  would  do  no  discredit  to  more  celebrated  names. 
If  the  music  is  equal  to  the  poetry,  I  can  safely  recom 
mend  it  to  your  notice ;  and  that  it  is  not  all  of  it  infe 
rior,  may  be  inferred  from  the  names  of  the  composers. 
Among  these,  I  observe  the  names  of  Naumann,  Zelter 
(the  correspondent  of  Goethe),  Zumsteeg,  Reichardt, 
Schulze,  and  Bergt,  all  men  of  note  in  the  history  of 
German  music.  Some  of  the  tunes  may  be  minors,  and 
therefore  not  entitled  to  a  voice  at  the  present  period  ; 
but  most  of  them  are  doubtless  majors,  and  although 
somewhat  antiquated,  and  of  course  unfashionable,  yet 
your  skill  may  give  them  enough  of  the  modern  ton  to 
render  them  admissible  in  circles  not  the  most  rigidly 
exclusive.  As  specimens  of  the  accompanying  poetry,  I 
have  prepared  the  following  translations,  not  for  the  pur 
pose  of  giving  a  literal  version  of  the  original,  but  rather 
to  transfer,  as  exactly  as  I  could,  into  our  language  the 
measures  of  the  German.  I  have  taken  considerable 
liberties  with  the  meaning  of  the  original  pieces,  but  I 
have  endeavored  to  convey  their  general  bearing  and 
spirit." 


428  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XIX. 

In  one  of  these  communications,  which  were  published 
in  the  Daily  Palladium,  there  is  an  elaborate  comparison 
of  the  respective  merits  of  Goethe  and  Schiller,  —  one 
of  his  very  few  literary  criticisms :  — 

"  I  have  here  placed  the  two  great  masters  of  German 
Goethe  and  song,  Goethe  and  Schiller,  side  by  side,  not 
compared,  indeed  in  pieces  which  fairly  measure  their 
strength,  but  in  such  as  show,  I  think,  distinctly,  their 
peculiar  characteristics.  It  is  indeed  interesting  to  con 
template  two  such  men,  of  the  first  class  of  minds,  but  of 
almost  directly  opposite  temperaments  and  tendencies, 
intimately  associated  in  feeling  and  in  effort,  regarding 
each  other  without  the  slightest  touch  of  jealousy,  and 
mutually  admiring  and  loving  each  other's  respective 
excellence.  It  is  a  striking  illustration  of  the  influence 
of  a  pure  and  genial  cultivation  of  art,  in  refining  and 
elevating  the  feelings  of  nature,  freeing  them  from  all 
little  shades  and  frettings,  and  opening  them  to  the  full 
and  perfect  love  of  the  great  and  beautiful  in  themselves, 
abstracted  from  all  external  considerations.  Yet  these 
men  had  each  to  pass  through  his  period  of  fermentation, 
as  the  Germans  express  it,  when  their  inward  natures 
were  in  a  state  of  intestine  warfare,  faculty  conflicting 
with  faculty,  emotion  struggling  with  emotion,  and  the 
reflective  and  impulsive  powers  in  constant  hostile  en 
counter.  But  that  period  past,  each  came  out  with  a 
balanced  and  peaceful  nature,  self-active  and  self-confiding, 
and  moving  by  its  own  inherent  impulse  through  a  bright 
intellectual  region,  like  the  sun  along  the  unclouded 
firmament.  But  each  too,  from  his  innate  peculiarity, 
passed  through  this  fermenting  period  in  his  own  peculiar 
way.  Schiller,  of  an  excitable  nervous  temperament, 
beset  during  his  youth  by  poverty  and  sickness,  baffled 


STUDIES    IN    TRANSLATION.  429 

in  his  intellectual  hopes  and  forced  into  employment 
reluctant  to  his  wishes,  vented  his  uneasy  spirit  in  the 
wild  and  tumultuous  agitation  of  his  '  Robbers.'  Goethe, 
with  a  mild,  genial,  sanguine  temperament,  essentially 
sunny  and  joyous  in  his  nature,  with  happy  health  and 
favoring  fortunes,  and  disturbed  only  by  the  crossings  of 
a  sensitive  heart,  emitted  his  uneasiness  in  the  sighings 
of  *  Werter,'  and  racked  off  his  spirit,  like  a  full-bodied 
must,  in  a  gentle  and  hardly  perceptible  agitation.  But 
when  they  had  perfected  their  art,  and  fully  subdued  their 
minds  to  its  discipline,  thus  giving  increased  elevation  and 
strength,  without  any  diminution  of  orderly  freedom,  each 
still  manifested  his  own  peculiar  nature,  in  the  character 
istics  of  his  productions.  In  those  of  Schiller,  we  find  a 
greater  blending  of  the  light  and  dark,  a  stronger  chiaro 
scuro,  a  more  towering,  at  times  almost  exaggerated  sub 
limity,  a  more  condensed  and  rapid  energy,  a  quicker  and 
acuter  feeling  at  times  even  painful,  a  greater  precision 
and  distinctness  of  forms,  approaching  more  nearly  the 
classic  outlines  of  sculpture,  a  surer  directness  of  aim, 
combined  with  a  more  regular  development  of  plot,  and 
an  intenser  and  more  sudden  concentration  of  interest  in 
the  catastrophe.  In  those  of  Goethe,  we  find  ourselves 
now  in  an  open,  sunny  region,  surrounded  by  the  graceful 
and  ever-varied  forms  of  living  nature,  flowers,  and  ver 
dure  in  constantly  diversified  shapes  and  hues,  all  waving 
and  flowing  and  overspread  from  the  pure  wide  heaven, 
with  a  delicately  harmonious  blending  of  lights  and  shad 
ows,  melting  into  each  other  as  softly  as  the  undulations 
on  a  field  of  billowy  corn  ;  now  in  a  tangled  wild- wood 
labyrinth  through  which  you  move  onward  under  the 
spell  of  a  constant  attraction,  drawn  on  by  some  far-seen 
glimpse  of  bright  beauty,  or  by  some  faint  echo  of  sweet 


430  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIX. 

sound,  all  under  a  subdued  and  enchanted  light,  as  if  you 
were  wandering  in  an  uncertain  dream.     In  Goethe  you 
are  not  seized  by  a  powerful  agitation,  which  you  feel 
comes  from  some  outward  impulse,  but  all  evolves  as  by 
the  spontaneous  operation   of  nature,  and  you  are  now 
borne  aloft  to  the  empyrean,  now  sweep  downward  to 
dark  abysses,  now  are  lifted  in  your  soul  by  a  high  and 
holy  expansion,  now  are  touched  by  a  fine  point  of  keenly 
vibrating  emotion  ;  but  all  passes  on  as  if  it  were  a  part  of 
yourself,  as  if  it  had  grown  into  life  in  the  natural  pro 
gress  of  your  being.     Goethe,  in  his  person,  is  not  before 
you  in  his  works.     These  are  essentially  objective,  like 
Shakespeare's,  but  less  perfectly  so,  for  at  times  his  vanity, 
—  for  by  that  weak  trait  he  fell,  how  far  below  Shake 
speare  !  —  at  times  this  will  peep  smilingly  from  the  open 
ings  of  his  labyrinths,  and  remind  you  who  is  leading  you 
on  in  this  fairies'  dance.     But  Schiller  is  ever  before  you ; 
his  sad  and  sublime  features  are  ever  looking  on  you 
through  all  his  creations ;  you  feel  ever  in  an  awful  but 
soul-subduing   presence,   toward  which   you   yearn   with 
intense  sympathy  and  attachment ;  your  bosom  trembles 
painfully  with  his  suffering ;  your  heart  chokes,  and  your 
tears  flow,  as  he  breathes  his  sorrowful  but  lofty  resigna 
tion  ;  he  rises,  and  you  rise,  and  are  borne  on  by  his  eagle 
wings;   you    become  feelingly  a  part   of  him,  and   are 
livingly  embodied  in  his  subjective.     Hence  the  difference 
between  the  influence  of  these  two  great  minds  on  the 
German  people.     The  more  cultivated  classes,  who  are 
less  agitated   by  the  pressing  necessities  of  life,  and  who 
accustom   themselves  to  a  habit  of  genial  and  graceful 
repose,  are  greater  admirers  of  Goethe ;  the  humbler  and 
less  disciplined,  who  have  kept  their  subjective  in  stronger 
activity  by  the  sharper  excitements  of  their  condition, 


A    MUSICAL    POET.  431 

and  by  not  having  formed  habits  of  decorous  restraint, 
which  are  but  a  renewal  of  the  more  regular  quiet  ongo 
ings  of  nature,  are  greater  admirers  of  Schiller.  Where 
the  character  is  subjective,  habitually  fixed  in  the  feeling 
of  self-emotions,  there  Schiller  is  the  favored  author; 
where  it  is  objective,  living  not  within  self-consciousness, 
but  externized,  if  I  may  use  such  a  word,  in  the  observa 
tion  of  the  world  without,  there  Goethe  is  preferred. 
Goethe,  in  one  word,  wins  and  fascinates ;  Schiller  com 
pels  and  subdues.  Goethe  is  idolized  by  the  Germans ; 
Schiller  is  worshipped.  I  need  not  dwell  on  the  peculiar 
characteristics  of  the  pieces  here  offered ;  on  the  masterly 
blending  of  the  darkly  sublime  and  the  intensely  pathetic 
in  Schiller's  Power  of  Song,  and  the  powerful  contrast 
of  soft,  womanly  delicacy  and  nervous,  manly  strength  in 
his  Woman's  Worth ;  nor  on  the  refined,  yet  natural 
tenderness  of  Goethe's  Nahe  des  Geliebten,  nor  on  the 
graceful  and  lively  truth  of  his  sea  pictures.  I  can  only 
regret  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  do  better  justice  to 
them  in  my  translations ;  but  most  sensibly  do  I  feel,  that 
just  poetical  translation,  even  when  you  can  move  freely 
in  the  language  you  attempt,  is  a  task  more  trying  and 
difficult  than  original  poetical  effort." 

His  personal  relations  to  this  club  are  delightfully 
given  by  one  of  its  most  active  members,  Mr.  William 
G.  Webster. 


TO  THE  EDITOR. 

NEW  HAVEN,  June  19,  1865. 
DEAR  SIR, — 

in  brief  reply  to  your  request  that  I  should  furnish 
you  with  some  reminiscences  of  the  poet  Percival,  I  must 


432  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIX. 

say  that  my  intimate  acquaintance  with  him  was  rather 
Letter  from  of  a  musical  than  a  literary  character.  During 

Mr.  W.  G.  TT        •  . 

Webster.  the  Harrison  campaign  we  belonged  to  a 
club  of  patriotic  Whigs,  whose  weekly  meetings  were 
held  at  my  house  to  compose  and  sing  the  songs  of  that 
exciting  period.  Richard  S.  Willis  was  our  conductor, 
and  Percival  our  poet.  Willis  would  select  some  national 
The  poet  of  a  German  melody  or  chorus,  and  we  would  call 
whig  club.  on  percivai  for  the  Words  to  be  adapted  to  the 
air.  Retiring  to  my  library,  he  would,  in  an  incredibly 
short  time,  return  with  some  patriotic,  spirit-stirring 
stanzas,  that  afterward  lent  so  much  enthusiasm  to  that 
exciting  period. 

Percival  was  no  musician  himself,  but  his  inquisitive 
mind  was  for  months  penetrating  the  mysteries  of  musical 
science.  Almost  every  evening,  during  the  intervals  be 
tween  our  club  meetings,  he  came  to  my  house  at  a  very 
early  hour  (frequently  before  tea),  and  going  immediately 
to  the  piano,  he  would  sit  at  arm's  length,  and  with  a  sin 
gle  finger  pick  out  the  notes  of  some  simple  strain  of  his 
composition  the  previous  day,  and  request  me  to  record 
it  for  future  use.  A  tedious  process  for  him  and  me,  as 
he  might  strike  a  dozen  keys  before  the  proper  note 
would  be  produced,  and  sometimes  a  whole  evening  might 
be  thus  spent  on  a  single  theme  ;  and  after  all,  on  play 
ing  or  singing  the  air  myself,  I  would  find  it  to  be  only  a 
reminiscence  of  his  earlier  days.  This  discovery  occa 
sionally  mortified  the  Doctor,  and  sometimes  he  would 
persist  in  claiming  it  as  original ;  but  one  evening,  while 
we  were  going  through  this  wearisome  labor,  my  wife,  from 
an  adjoining  room,  struck  up  the  very  air  he  had  been 
all  day  composing,  and  sung  it  through  without  the  failure 
of  a  note.  Percival  stopped  amazed,  almost  doubting 


1840. 

.flat.  45. 


A    MUSICAL    POET.  433 


the  evidence  of  his  own  senses ;  but  on  calling  upon  Mrs. 
Webster,  who  told  him  that  it  was  a  song  she  had  rarely 
heard  since  infancy,  he  acknowledged  that  many  of  the 
simple  strains  he  thought  his  own  might  be  only  the  im 
pressions  left  on  his  memory  in  very  childhood. 

Sometimes   Percival  would  bring  his    accordion    and 
amuse  me  with  the  result  of  his  studies  since 

His  music. 

his  previous  visit.  Placing  his  fingers  on  the 
keys,  he  imagined  that  sounds  were  elicited,  when  to  my 
acute  ear  not  a  tone  was  audible.  On  one  occasion,  with 
his  poetic  eye  upon  the  ceiling,  he  went  off  into  an 
ecstasy  of  imaginary  melody,  of  which  I  did  not  catch 
one  note  in  three,  and  continued  playing,  or  rather  ma 
nipulating,  so  long  that  I  fell  asleep,  but  was  soon  aroused 
by  his  asking  me  whether  the  air  he  had  been  playing 
were  a  reminiscence  or  not.  Awkwardly  apologizing  for 
my  rudeness,  I  told  him  that  his  subdued  style  of  playing 
had  produced  an  effect  so  lulling  that  I  could  not  resist 
it.  With  all  his  sensitiveness,  he  seemed  rather  gratified 
than  annoyed  by  this,  and  very  good-naturedly  repeated 
a  performance  of  which  I  could  make  out  but  little. 
Some  weeks  passed  thus,  Percival  theorizing  through  the 
day,  and  at  night  bringing  the  results  to  me  for  practical 
illustration.  But  his  investigations  were  soon  carried  so 
far  beyond  my  depth,  that  I  told  him  I  should  thence 
forth  turn  him  over  to  Mr.  Willis.  And  to  Mr.  Willis, 
now  a  resident  of  New  York,  I  will  refer  you. 

Percival  seemed  to  take  but  little  note  of  time,  often 
spending  six  or  seven  hours  at  my  house  at  a  single  sit 
ting,  talking  of  nothing  but  music.  If  I  was  absent, 
however,  he  would  wait  my  return  until  midnight  if  ne 
cessary,  entertaining  my  wife  with  conversation  of  the 
most  varied  and  interesting  character ;  but  the  moment  I 
19  BB 


434  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIX. 

appeared  he  would  break  off  and  begin  at  once  on  his 
hobby,  —  music,  —  and  on  what  he  had  accomplished  or 
discovered  on  the  previous  day.  Once  he  told  me  that  he 
had  been  studying  the  character  of  Scotch  ballad  music, 
and  after  hours  of  examination,  he  had  been  surprised  to 
find  that  its  peculiarities  arose  merely  from  the  absence 
of  all  semitones.  One  morning  early  I  told  him,  half 
seriously,  half  sportively,  that  he  was  subjecting  me  to 
many  a  curtain  lecture  by  his  protracted  calls.  He  re 
plied,  "  Why  this  is  not  late.  Last  night  I  was  with  Pro 
fessor  North  rather  late ;  but  on  going  to  my  room,  I 
thought  it  too  early  to  retire,  and  began  kindling  my  fire 
for  an  hour's  reading,  when  I  was  startled  by  a  bright 
light,  and  on  going  to  my  window  I  saw  the  sun  rising, 
and  then  thought  it  time  to  go  to  bed."  But  my  hints 
had  no  effect.  He  still  continued  his  protracted  visita 
tions  until  Willis's  superior  musical  intelligence  put  my 
practical  teachings  wholly  in  the  shade. 

As  to  my  literary  connection  with  Percival,  it  was  sim- 
Literarycon-  ply  this.      In  1843  I  was  compiling  an  adden- 

nection  with    r  » 

Percival.  dum  of  some  thousand  words  for  my  father's  roy 
al  8vo  dictionary,  and  being  a  mere  tyro  in  lexicography, 
I  often  called  on  him  for  assistance  in  tracing  the  origin, 
or  in  giving  me  the  definition  of  a  word,  and  in  this  I 
found  him  not  only  profoundly  learned,  but  kind  and  pa 
tient  to  a  degree  that  surprised  me.  I  have  known  him 
to  spend  two  or  three  days  in  the  investigation  of  a  single 
word ;  and  had  the  character  of  our  work  been  such  as  to 
justify  the  delay  consequent  on  such  minute  investiga 
tions,  his  labors  would  have  been  invaluable.  But  in  my 
case,  as  in  that  of  my  father  and  of  Dr.  Goodrich,  his 
extreme  anxiety  to  verify  everything  he  did,  and  the  de 
lay  consequent  on  this,  detracted  much  from  his  practical 


A    MUSICAL    POET.  435 

usefulness  as  a  scholar,  especially  for  such  a  work  as 

ours 

Respectfully  and  truly  yours. 

WM.  G.  WEBSTER. 

This  sketch  is  completed  by  the  account  which  Mr. 
Richard  Storrs  Willis,  then  a  student  at  Yale,  N0tes  from 
afterward  communicated  to  the  Musical  World,  Mr>  Willis' 
a  journal  with  which  he  was  connected :  — 

"  At  this  time,  by  reason  of  the  ....  serenades,  and 
other  tuneful  demonstrations,  music  was  assuming  unwont 
ed  prominence  within  college  walls  and  under  city 'elms. 
Percival  caught  the  enthusiasm,  and  for  a  time  his  mas 
ter-mind  seemed  to  be  filled  with  music,  —  musicalized. 
He  had  a  collection  of  old  German  annuals,  which  con 
tained  a  certain  number  of  songs  with  music.  These 
songs  he  translated  into  charming  English  rhyme ;  and 
turning  the  music  over  to  me,  it  was  soon  arranged  in 
parts  for  our  club.  We  met  and  sang  the  music  to  Per- 
cival's  translations.  Delightful  hours  these !  Percival 
was  always  with  us  ;  and  though  he  did  not  sing,  we  knew 
his  soul  was  making  melody  with  ours. 

"  Crowded  out  of  the  college  buildings  (for  the  swarm 
ing  students  in  this  institution  [Yale]  had  overrun  its 
edifices,  like  certain  historical  rats  the  bishop's  castle  on 
the  Rhine),  my  own  'den'  was  on  the  first  floor  of  a 
private  residence  in  the  vicinity,  —  first  floor,  namely,  by 
Hibernian  reckoning,  counting  from  the  sky  downward. 
And,  indeed,  it  does  not  seem  unbefitting  that  the  start 
ing-point  of  our  enumeration  should  ever  be  in  the  skies. 
I  owe  it  entirely  to  music  that  to  this  first  floor  Percival 
was  in  the  habit  of  climbing,  far  away  from  the  cellar  of 
things  as  found  in  the  lower  world,  to  engage  in  delightful 


436  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [ CHAP.  XIX. 

converse  on  matters  musical.     My  ear  soon  learned  to 

catch  his  soft,  springy  step  on  the  stairs,  as  he  leaped  up 

two  or  three  at  a  time  in  the  ascent.     Books  were 

His  visits.  . 

immediately  thrown  aside,  and  our  sitting  com 
menced,  which  sometimes  lasted  for  hours  ;  for  his  mind, 
if  once  started  on  the  track  of  a  subject,  was  entirely  obliv 
ious  to  the  lapse  of  time.  This  was  the  case,  whether  with 
in  walls,  or  on  the  corner  of  a  street  on  a  cold,  windy  night ; 
and  the  listener  who  could  at  any  time  tear  himself  away 
from  such  instructive  and  fascinating  communication  with 
this  wonderful  mind  (mysteriously  vested  in  a  long  cloak 
that  fluttered  in  the  wind),  though  it  lasted  not  unfrequently 
for  hours,  must  have  been  more  self-denying  than  I  could 
ever  find  myself.  Frequent  failures  in  morning  recita 
tions  I  willingly  submitted  to  from  the  greater  knowledge 
acquired  during  long  study  hours  from  this  wise,  living 
book.  But  not  I  alone  was  betrayed  by  the  morning  ;  for 
Percival  once  incidentally  related  that,  having  seated 
himself  at  a  desk  one  evening  to  commence  a  poem  for  a 
coming  Society  celebration,  he  was  suddenly  aroused  by 
what  seemed  to  him  a  large  conflagration,  illuminating  his 
apartment.  He  started  to  the  window,  and  found  the 
morning  breaking  in  the  east.  He  had  written  all  night, 
and  his  poem  was  finished  at  a  single  heat. 

"  But  this  singular  man  was  now  fast  becoming  a  prac- 

A  musical     tical  musician, —  yea,  more,  positively   a  corn- 
composer  and 
inventor.       poser  ;  still  more,  even  the  inventor  of  a  musical 

theory.  He  could  find  at  that  time  no  intelligible  musical 
system,  and  therefore  he  invented  a  singularly  ingenious 
one  of  his  own.  He  also  undertook  to  learn  an  instrument, 
— the  accordion ;  this  he  ordinarily  brought  with  him  under 
his  cloak.  He  had,  as  yet,  an  appreciation  only  of  the  bare 
melody;  harmony  confused  his  ear.  The  chords  were 


A    MUSICAL    POET.  437 

therefore  shut  off  from  the  instrument,  and  the  soft  breath 
ing  of  the  accordion,  in  some  plaintive  air,  which  he  had 
himself  composed,  was  all  that  was  heard.  But  his  voice, 
even  in  conversation,  soft  as  the  sighing  of  the  west-wind, 
in  music  was  almost  inaudible.  Not  master  of  the  art  of 
writing  music,  he  ordinarily  brought  his  compositions  jot 
ted  down  in  illegible  hieroglyphics  of  his  own,  and  wished 
to  have  them  reduced  to  shape.  But  the  melodies  were 
in  such  strange,  wild  measures  (like  much  of  his  poetry), 
the  numbers  were  so  irregular,  that  it  was  almost  impos 
sible  to  do  this ;  still,  in  many  instances,  the  attempt  was 
successful. 

"  I  recollect  on  one  occasion  our  club  was  to  sing  at  a 
little  gathering  of  friends,  and  Percival,  quite  to  our  as 
tonishment,  had  consented  to  accompany  us,  —  for  he  had 
shunned  all  general  society  for  years.     Still  more  were 
we  astonished  when  he  expressed  his  willingness,  while 
there,  to   sing  a  song  of  his  own.     He  had  brought  his 
accordion.     In  a  retired  corner  of  the  room  The  poet 
sat  his  gaunt,  thin  figure,  bent  over  the  instru-  p\ays  aTa 
ment.    To  me  he  had  never  looked  half  so  weird-  party> 
like  ;  that  noble  Shakespearian  head  of  his,  the  sharply  cut, 
spiritual  features,  his  eyes  so  full  of  the  wild  fire  of  gen 
ius,  the  thin,  curling  locks,  all  gave  him  the  appearance 
of  a  minstrel  come  down  from  another  age. 

"We  had  already  quieted  the  room  for  the  expected 
song.  Standing  near  him,  I  soon  knew,  by  the  motion  of 
his  lips,  that  he  was  singing.  But  no  one  heard  him  ;  for 
I  myself  could  distinguish  only  the  soft  breathing  of  a  mel 
ody  of  his  that  was  familiar  to  me.  After  a  while,  the 
company,  supposing  that  he  was  not  quite  ready  to  begin, 
commenced  talking  again.  The  bard  sung  on,  and  the 
song  was  finished ;  but  few  beside  myself  at  all  suspected 


438  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XIX. 

that  he  had  been  singing,  most  supposing,  at  last,  that, 
for  some  reason,  he  had  given  up  his  intention.  But  his 
own  soul  had  floated  off  upon  his  melody,  and  he  had 
that  sufficient  reward  which  many  a  bard  has,  —  the  silent 
rapture  of  song.  But  I  believe  and  hope  Percival  was 
convinced  that  we  shared  the  pleasure  with  him. 

"  It  will  not  be  thought  strange  that  I  looked  upon  it 
as  a  great  triumph  of  music,  —  that  it  was  vindicating  its 
eminently  socializing  and  humanizing  character,  in  thus 
drawing  back  to  a  regretting  and  appreciating  world  a 
spirit  which  had  so  long  been  unhappily  alienated  from 
it.  Percival  was  approaching  society  again."* 

In  addition  to  these  reminiscences,  Mr.  Willis  has  corn- 
Additional  municated  to  me  several  facts  which  further 
illustrate  the  poet's  peculiar  ways.  His  visits 
finally  became  so  excessively  long,  that  Mr.  Willis  told 
him  as  gently  as  possible  that  he  could  hardly  give  him 
so  much  time.  Percival  took  it  very  kindly.  He  would 
never  enter  his  room  if  any  one  was  in  besides  Mr.  Wil 
lis  ;  and  when  there,  he  never  talked  about  his  personal 
affairs,  always  upon  scientific  or  musical  subjects;  but 
this  was  ever  rich  and  instructive.  He  usually  came 
with  a  bundle  of  old  music  or  his  accordion  under  his 
arm,  and  was  always  full  of  enthusiasm.  Mr.  Willis  adds, 
that  Percival  showed  great  tenderness  towards  him,  and 
even  advised  him  to  enter  upon  literary  pursuits  when  he 
was  graduated  from  college. 

His  rooms  at  this  time,  and  for  some  years  previously, 
Where  his  were  in  the  busy  part  of  Chapel  Street,  over 
rooms  were.  ^e  place  lately  occupied  by  Sydney  Babcock's 
bookstore,  adjoining  the  present  edifice  known  as  Lyon's 
Building;  and  this  continued  to  be  his  home  till  1843, 
*  Poems,  Vol.  I.  pp.  xxxix.-xliii. 


A    LITERARY    RESORT.  439 

when  he  removed  to  the  State  Hospital  and  entered  upon 
his  hermitage.  But  he  was  here  never  free  from  an 
noyance.  The  shoemakers  who  occupied  rooms  near  by 
made  too  much  noise,  and  his  own  was  so  much  in  the 
heart  of  the  city  that  he  was  continually  in  fear  that  his 
valuable  library  might  be  destroyed  by  fire.  He 

,  A  dyspeptic. 

also  suffered   from  terrible  attacks  of  the  dys 
pepsia.     He  took  his  meals  for  some  years  at  a  place 
in  Church  Street  formerly  known  as  Bishop's  Hi9  boarding 
Hotel.     In  those  days  the  landlord  ruled  the  SSS»*£uter- 
roast,  and  the  roasts  were  often  plump,  fat  tur-  ary  resort- 
keys.     One  part  of  the  turkey  the 

"  Ecclesiastic  nose 
Which,  to  the  laws  of  order  blind, 
Nature  has  queerly  placed  behind," 

strange  to  say,  Percival  was  extremely  fond  of;  and 
"  mine  host "  of  those  days  tells  me  that  he  always  saved 
that  part  for  him,  when,  as  sometimes  happened,  he  was 
late  at  dinner.  He  ate  rather  sparingly,  and  never  en 
tered  the  bar-room  or  partook  of  anything  from  it  during 
his  entire  stay.  He  usually  sat  down  i-i  the  reading-room 
and  occupied  himself  with  the  newspapers  if  he  had  occa 
sion  to  wait ;  and  here  he  often  encountered  strangers, 
who,  attracted  by  the  fame  of  his  peculiar  eccentricities, 
came  on  purpose  to  dine  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  him,  and 
if  possible,  though  in  this  they  were  usually  disappointed, 
to  engage  hirn  in  conversation.  In  this  way,  the  hotel 
became  widely  known  as  a  literary  report.  Percival 
usually  ate  his  meals  in  silence,  and  used  no  unnecessary 
words,  though  he  could  easily  be  engaged  in  conversa 
tion,  if  persons  had  business  with  him.  He  had  no  re 
spect  or  care  for  mere  curiosity-hunters. 


440  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XIX. 

He  was  always  interested  in  politics.  From  the  time 
His  interest  °f  ms  early  editorship  in  1823,  when  he  used 
in  politics.  hig  pen  in  favor  of  Mr  Calhoun,  to  his  latest 

years,  he  was  a  frequent  contributor  to  the  newspaper 
press,  not  merely  of  poems  and  translations,  but  of  short, 
spicy  political  squibs,  in  prose  and  verse,  over  various  sig 
natures.  He  was  a  great  reader  of  the  papers,  and  used 
to  be  seen  almost  daily  at  the  rooms  of  the  Young  Men's 
Institute,  conning  over  the  news  of  the  day.  The  New 
Haven  journals  were  also  the  medium  of  frequent  short 
articles  on  questions  in  science,  derivations  of  popular 
words,  or  the  intricacies  of  foreign  languages.  He  was  a 
strong  Whig,  as  party  names  ran  in  those  days,  and  all 
the  public  measures  which  for  ten  years  preceded  the 
Harrison  campaign  received  satirical  comments  from  his 
pen  in  the  same  vein  as  his  lecture  on  Nosology ;  but  the 
Presidential  election  of  1840  aroused  his  powers  to  their 
full  activity.  To  any  one  who  will  run  over  his  earliest 
volume,  the  number  of  his  poems  devoted  to  emancipa 
tion  and  the  increase  of  human  liberty  in  Greece  and  Italy 
and  South  America  is  surprising ;  nor  should  it  be  omitted, 
that  among  his  first  attempts  at  poetry  is  a  severe  denun 
ciation  of  what  has  been  known  until  lately  as  American 
slavery.  These  early  impulses  for  liberty  and  patriotism 
were  never  forgotten.  His  latest  volume  contains  patri 
otic  appeals,  which  are  as  fervid  and  strong  and  inspiring 
as  his  most  popular  lyrics ;  and  much  of  his  popularity 
has  been  owing  to  his  single  character  in  this  respect  as 
a  poet  of  national  feeling  and  glowing  devotion  to  his 
country.  Who  that  has  ever  read  it  will  forget  his  "New 
England"?  His  numerous  odes  on  Independence  ring 
with  true  tones.  He  had  that  breadth  of  vision  which 
belongs  to  the  statesman,  and  was  thoroughly  conversant 


^fkJ  INTEREST    IN    POLITICS.  441 

with  the  history,  basis,  and  spirit  of  our  government. 
And  though  an  ardent  politician,  his  patriotism  was  never 
confined  to  party ;  but  with  all  this  enthusiasm  and  devo 
tion,  in  his  poetry  he  was  simply  the  recluse  bard,  animat 
ing  others  to  duty.  Now  he  became  an  actor  Actively 

engaged 

as  well  as  a  poet.  His  interest  in  music  led  m  the 
him  to  the  Sing-Song  Club,  and  his  own  zeal  in  campaign, 
the  election  of  General  Harrison  led  him  to  compose  po 
litical  songs  ;  and  these  did  excellent  service  in  that  stir 
ring  campaign,  —  the  first  Presidential  contest  in  which 
the  singing  of  patriotic  and  party  songs  was  introduced 
to  excite  public  feeling.  These  songs  were  taken  to  the 
club,  and  there  being  set  to  music,  and  found  to  be 
adapted  to  the  purpose,  were  next  published  in  the  Whig 
papers  of  the  city,  and  thence  scattered  widely  over  the 
country  from  Maine  to  Texas.  The  more  Percival  be 
came  engaged  in  this  work,  the  more  excited  he  grew 
and  the  more  active.  His  songs  multiplied  apace.  He 
went  from  his  rooms  to  the  club,  from  the  club  to  the 
printing-office.  One  week,  a  campaign  paper  was  issued, 
made  up  largely  from  his  Whig  songs ;  and  a  little  later, 
his  "  New  Haven  Whig  Song- Book  "  was  pub-  His  whig 
lished  by  the  Whig  General  Committee  for  the  Sons-Book- 
use  of  the  New  Haven  County  Mass  Convention,  which 
was  held  on  Thursday,  October  8,  1840.  But  this  con 
tains  only  a  small  portion  of  those  which  were  set  to 
music  and  published  in  the  papers.  Among  those  which 
show  best  what  he  could  do  is  the  following,  written  after 
the  election  and  reprinted,  with  the  editor's  comments, 
exactly  as  it  came  out  in  the  Daily  Herald  for  November 
30,  1840:  — 

"  The  following  excellent  Song,  adapted  to  a  popular 
and  familiar  air,  is  from  the  pen  of  Percival,  one  of  our 

19* 


442  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XIX. 

most  gifted  poets,  who  no  longer  hides  the  light  of  his 
patriotism  under  the  geological  bushel  of  ab- 

A  specimen.    r 

struse  science.    When  such  men  speak,  we  may 
truly  say  '  The  Campbells  are  coming.'      Now 

'  Let  the  singing  singers 
With  vocal  voices  most  vociferous, 
In  sweet  vociferation  out-vociferize 
Even  sound  itself  —  for 


"SUCCESS  TO  TIPPECANOE. 

" '  Give  me  the  songs  of  a  nation,  and  I  care  not  who  makee  its  laws.' 
"TCNE,  —  (The  Campbells  are  coming.' 

"  The  Day  is  all  over;  the  Battle  is  done; 
The  Field  —  it  is  conquered  ;  the  Victory  won: 
We've  carried  our  Leader  triumphantly  through; 
Then  peal  your  huzzas  for  Old  Tippecanoe; 
For  Glory,  bright  beaming,  has  shown  us  the  way, 
To  the  heat  of  the  conflict,  the  thick  of  the  fray: 
We've  taught  the  proud  Foeman,  what  deeds  we  can  do; 
Then  Hail  to  the  Triumph  of  Tippecanoe ! 

CHORUS. 

Old  Tip  is  a  coming  from  Ohi  o! 

Old  Tip  is  a  coming  from  Ohi  o! 

Old  Tip  is  a  coming  — he 's  let  his  Log  Cabin  ! 

Old  Tip  is  a  coming  from  Ohi  o! 

"  Brave  Tippecanoe  has  come  out  of  the  West, 
To  deliver  the  land  from  a  horrible  Pest; 
A  Plague,  such  as  Freedom  before  never  knew, 
Has  fled  at  the  touch  of  Old  Tippecanoe ! 
The  foul  spot,  that  darkened  the  roll  of  our  Fame; 
The  black  lines  recording  our  Annals  of  Shame ; 
A  proud-hearted  Nation  no  longer  shall  rue : 
They've  all  been  expunged  by  Old  Tippecanoe! 
Old  Tip  is  a  coming,  etc. 

"  Bold  Tippecanoe  has  dethroned  little  Van ; 
His  country  to  raise,  he  '11  do  all  that  he  can; 


KJ  WHIG    SONGS.  443 


Sound  Measures  — he  '11  carry  them  steadily  through; 
Never  fear  for  the  honest  Old  Tippecanoe ! 
Like  Washington,  vigilant  ever  and  just, 
He  '11  always  be  faithful  and  true  to  his  trust; 
To  cherish  the  Good,  and  give  Merit  its  due, 
Is  Glory  enough  for  Old  Tippecanoe ! 
Old  Tip  is  a  corning,  etc. 

"  A  hard  work  he  '11  have,  the  foul  palace  to  clean, 
But  soon  it  all  garnished  and  swept  shall  be  seen; 
And  decently  simple  and  plain  to  the  view, 
Shall  the  House  be  that  shelters  Old  Tippecanoe ! 
No  carpets  from  Brussels,  no  Vanity  Fair,  — 
Nor  gold  spoons,  or  bouquets,  or  or-moulu  there ! 
Good  stuff  from  our  Workmen  shall  furnish  it  thro '  — 
The  Mansion  of  Patriot  Tippecanoe ! 
Old  Tip  is  a  coming,  etc. 

"  No  Parties  Exclusive,  no  Minuet  Balls, 
No  Levees  a  la  Royale  shall  flout  in  his  Halls : 
The  String  of  his  Door  shall  be  never  drawn  through; 
Always  Welcome  's  the  word  with  Old-  Tippecanoe ! 
No  Banquets  he  '11  give  a  la  mode  de  Paris  ; 
No  Wines  of  great  price  on  his  board  you  shall  see: 
But  Sirloin,  and  Bacon,  and  HARD  CIDER  too, 
Shall  be  the  plain  fare  of  Old  Tippecanoe! 
Old  Tip  is  a  coming,  etc. 

"  From  highest  to  lowest,  all  Offices  then 
Shall  be  filled  with  Good,  Faithful,  and  Vigilant  men; 
Clear  proof  they  are  Competent,  Honest,  and  True, 
Is  all  that  is  wanted  by  Tippecanoe ! 
The  Treasury  then  shall  be  safe  and  secure ; 
The  hands  that  control  it  shall  ever  be  pure ; 
For  the  Gold  of  his  Country,  a  long  Service  through, 
Never  stuck  to  the  fingers  of  Tippecanoe ! 
Old  Tip  is  a  coming,  etc. 

"  No  double-faced  Janus  shall  sit  in  the  chair, 
Who  to  all  sides  a  simper  eternal  shall  wear; 
But  frankly  he  '11  tell  the  whole  Land  what  he  '11  do: 
There 's  no  Double-Dealing  with  Tippecanoe ! 
He  has  solemnly  said,  when  One  Term  shall  expire, 
To  the  shades  of  North  Bend  he  will  surely  retire: 


444  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XIX. 

And  certain  as  Truth,  when  his  One  Term  is  through, 
Again  to  the  Plough  will  go  Tippecanoe ! 
Old  Tip  is  a  coming,  etc. 

"Then  let  us  all  stand  by  the  Honest  Old  Man, 
Who  has  rescued  the  Country,  and  beat  little  Van: 
The  Spirit  of  Evil  has  gotten  its  due ; 
It 's  laid  by  the  strong  arm  of  Tippecanoe ! 
In  the  Front  Rank  our  Nation  shall  now  take  its  stand, 
Peace,  Order,  Prosperity  brighten  the  land : 
Then  loud  swell  the  voice  of  each  Good  Man  and  True  — 
Success  to  the  Gallant  Old  Tippecanoe ! 
Old  Tip  is  a  coming,  etc." 

At  this  Convention  Percival  was  present,  probably  the 
first  and  the  last  political  meeting  he  ever  attended  in  his 
life.  As  the  speeches  proceeded  and  the  songs  were 
sung,  he  became  so  excited  that  he  clapped  his  hands 
with  the  others  in  applause.  The  excitement  raged  high, 
and  Percival  himself  (says  an  eyewitness)  was  called  on 
Makes  a  f°r  a  speech.  He  arose,  but  appeared  greatly 
confused,  hesitated,  stammered,  said  he  was  no 
speaker,  and  could  not  make  a  speech,  that  he  had  never 
made  one  in  his  life,  that  his  whole  heart  was  in  the 
cause,  that  he  was  very  glad  if  his  songs  had  been  of  ser 
vice,  but  that  he  could  only  help  through  his  pen.  This 
is  the  only  time  he  was  ever  known  to  address  off-hand  a 
promiscuous  public  assembly. 

When  the  excitement  had  passed  away,  and  Harrison 
and  Tyler  had  been  elected,  his  interest  in  public  affairs 
did  not  abate ;  and  when  a  few  months  later,  a  nation 
mourned  over  the  sudden  death  of  President  Harrison, 
and  the  funeral  solemnities  were  observed  at  the  Centre 
Writes  hymns  Church  in  New  Haven,  three  of  the  four  hymns 
HanSm?*  sung  on  that  occasion  were  from  his  pen.  The 
>sequies.  following  dirge,  a  striking  change  from  the  tem 
pestuous  fervor  of  the  songs,  was  one  of  them :  — 


Et45.]  WHIG   SONGS.  445 

"  How  soon  the  dawn,  that  shone  so  bright, 

Is  deeply  veiled  in  silent  gloom !  A  dirge. 

How  soon  a  nation's  hope  and  light 
Sinks  in  the  darkness  of  the  tomb ! 

"  That  hope  has  fled,  that  light  is  gone, 
Shrouded  beneath  the  funeral  pall. 
The  mourning  train  move  slowly  on ; 
Their  steps  in  measured  cadence  fall. 

"  Earth  yields  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust ; 

Low  breathes  the  sigh,  as  sorrow  flows: 
The  grave  receives  its  solemn  trust; 
Our  friend  there  takes  his  last  repose. 

"  Soon  he  awakes,  —  a  fairer  morn 

Breaks  on  him,  from  the  heavenly  throne! 
Unsullied  wreaths  his  brow  adorn  ; 
He  lives  and  moves  in  light  alone. 

w  But  still  we  pause  in  silent  grief; 

Still  bend  awhile  beneath  the  rod; 
Still  seek  in  tears  a  sad  relief, 
And  kneel  before  a  chastening  God. 

"  Yet  not  in  vain,  —  a  softer  heart, 

A  purer  spirit  fills  the  breast; 
As  tears  of  tender  sorrow  start, 
The  angry  waves  of  passion  rest. 

"  We  lay  a  brother  in  the  tomb ; 

We  mourn  a  father  and  a  friend. 
He  sleeps  not  in  eternal  gloom : 
Not  his  the  night  that  knows  no  end. 

"  Soon  he  awakes,  —  a  fairer  morn 

Breaks  on  him,  from  the  heavenly  throne ! 
Unsullied  wreaths  his  brow  adorn; 
He  lives  and  moves  in  light  alone." 


His  watchful  eye  and  quick  sympathy  are  seen  in  the 
following  paragraph,  which  appeared  in  one  of  the  papers 
two  or  three  days  after  the  event :  — 


446  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XIX. 

"  There  was  nothing  in  the  procession  of  Saturday  that 
struck  me  with  more  pleasure  than  the  appearance  of  the 
Hibernian  Provident  Society.  It  was  as  gratifying  as  it 
was  unexpected  to  see  so  many  honest  and  respectable- 
looking  Irishmen  join  in  the  solemnities  of  that  day,  as 
fellow-citizens  of  our  great  Republic,  and  fellow-mourn 
ers  of  our  departed  President.  May  they  continue  to 
cultivate  the  true  provident  spirit  of  Yankee  liberty  and 
independence,  and  labor  to  transmit  it  to  their  brethren 
in  Ireland,  till  that  beautiful  island  shall  shine  in  the  sea, 
*  redeemed,  disenthralled,  and  regenerated,'  the  purest 
A  tribute  gem  of  the  ocean.  I  beg  them  to  accept  the 
bernTa?1'  following,  I  hope  not  too  familiar,  and  I  can 
truly  say,  sincere  tribute  from  one  who  wishes 
their  society  prosperity  and  perpetuity. 

"P. 

"  0  Erin,  green  gem  that  lies  all  in  the  sea, 

So  rich  in  paratys  and  warm  Irish  hearts ; 
When  I  think  that  a  jewel,  so  rare,  is  n't  free, 
The  tear  of  regret  from  my  full  bosom  starts. 

"  0,  there  is  the  home  of  my  childhood,  the  spot 

Where  I  first  dug  the  turf  by  the  side  of  the  moor: 
Though  humble  and  rude  was  my  father's  low  cot, 
To  the  stranger  stood  open  his  heart  and  his  door. 

'  And  that  home  of  my  childhood  shall  ne'er  be  forgot: 

Of  its  green  sod  I  '11  think,  while  my  green  badge  I  wear: 
0,  I  wish  they  'd  as  free  and  as  happy  a  lot, 
The  friends  I  left  under  the  Sassenagh  there. 

"  God's  blessing  be  on  thee,  my  own  native  isle; 

Ever  fresh  be  thy  shamrock,  and  stout  thy  shillelagh : 
May  the  green  flag  of  Union  soon  over  thee  smile, 
And  every  true  Irish  heart  under  it  rally !  " 

After  such  an  initiation  into  the  mysteries  of  music, 
interest  in     Percival  had  no  desire  to  turn  aside  from  such 

public  con 
certs,  pleasant  recreations  of  his  loneliness  ;  and  when- 


,Et*tf.]         ATTENDS   MUSICAL    CONCERTS.  447 

ever  any  concerts  of  instrumental  or  vocal  music  were 
given  by  professional  musicians,  he  was  usually  in  at 
tendance  ;  and  a  day  or  two  following  there  would  be 
printed  in  the  daily  paper  a  poem  suggested  by  the  event, 
over  the  well-known  signature  "  P."  Such  was  the  case 
when  the  Misses  Shaw  visited  New  Haven  in  August, 
1842.  The  Scotch  ballads  which  they  sang  went  to  the 
heart  of  the  poet,  who.  was  as  familiar  with  Scotch  melo 
dies  as  he  was  with  the  local  geography  of  Scotland,  (and 
he  knew  this  so  well  that,  though  he  was  never  Poems  sug- 
abroad,  there  is  scarcely  a  hamlet  which  is  not  them. 
down  upon  his  manuscript  maps,)  and  the  result  was  the 
fine  Scotch  ballad  beginning, 

"  Whither  away,  in  thy  swift-winged  bark," 

which  may  be  found  among  his  published  poems.  Such, 
again,  was  the  case  a  month  later,  when  Mr.  Wall,  a  blind 
Irish  harper,  gave  a  concert,  and  played  upon  his  harp 
several  of  the  finest  Scotch,  Welsh,  and  Irish  melodies. 
Percival  attended,  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
harper,  and  afterwards  wrote  those  beautiful  lines, 

"  The  harper  once  in  Tara's  halls,"  etc. 

The  celebration  of  S.  Patrick's  day  this  same  year  awak 
ened  his  enthusiasm,  and  he  both  attended  in  An  Ode  to 
person  and  furnished  the  following  ode,  a  noble  s  Patnct- 
tribute  to  his  large-hearted  sympathy,  which  was  sung  on 
the  occasion. 

"Am,  —  1S.  Patrick's  Day.1 

I. 

"  Hail  to  the  morning,  when  first  he  ascended, 
The  Jewel  of  Erin,  the  Saint  and  the  Sage,  — 
O,  long  may  the  rays  of  his  glory  be  blended, 
In  harmony  clear,  on  the  poet's  page. 
Long  may  the  sainted  Patrick  bless  us, 
Long  as  the  flowers  of  Erin  smile. 


448  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XIX. 

True-hearted  Irishmen  ever  shall  follow  him,  — 

Ever  pure  prayers  from  warm  bosoms  shall  hallow  him,  — 

Praises  resound  through  each  consecrate  pile; 
And  O,  may  his  spirit  awake  to  redress  us, 
And  rescue  from  tyrants  our  sacred  isle. 


"  Hark  to  the  voice,  that  through  Connaught  resounded, 
Aloft  from  her  mountain  so  high  and  so  green ! 
It  spake,  —  through  that  gem,  by  the  bright  ocean  bounded, 
No  venomous  creature  again  was  seen. 

Roses  and  shamrocks  filled  each  valley, 

Green  waved  the  oak  above  each  hill : 
Health,  in  each  eye,  sparkled  clear  as  the  fountain; 
Pure  was  each  kiss,  as  the  dew  of  the  mountain; 

Swelled  every  bosom  with  joy,  to  its  fill,  — 
But  0,  he  forgot,  with  his  trusty  shillelagh, 

To  crush  that  foul  hydra,  the  worm  of  the  still. 

in. 

"  Hark  to  the  voice,  that,  through  Erin  resounding, 
Awakens  the  spirits  of  freemen  again ! 
It  calls,  and  the  hearts  of  old  Ireland  are  bounding,  — 
As  they  beat,  snap  the  steel  links  of  slavery's  chain ! 

Millions  there  wake  to  pride  and  glory,  — 

Think  of  their  sires,  the  strong  and  free ! 
Millions,  too,  warm  with  a  patriot's  devotion, 
Send  their  fond  wishes  across  the  wide  ocean, 

Erin!  0  beautiful  Erin!  to  thee; 
For  0,  thou  art  rescued,  and  ever  in  story, 
Thy  Patrick  and  Matthew  united  shall  be." 

But  the  occasion  of  all  others  when  he  wrote  ira- 
ms  Ode  to  promptu  poetry  was  at  the  time  of  the  cele- 
oieBuii.  Crated  Norwegian  violinist  Ole  Bull's  visit  to 
New  Haven,  June  11,  1844.  Percival  welcomed  him  in 
a  poetical  address  in  his  native  (Danish)  language,  in  the 
Daily  Herald,  on  the  day  of  the  evening  when  his  con 
cert  was  held.  His  own  means  were  so  limited  at  this 
time,  that  a  friend,  knowing  his  tastes,  sent  him  the  requi- 


TO    OLE    BULL.  449 

site  dollar  to  attend  the  concert.  Percival  was  carried 
away  with  delight,  and  after  the  concert  was  introduced 
to  Ole  Bull,  and  presented  him  with  the  following  tribute, 
the  first  draft  of  which  lies  before  me,  and  which  was 
introduced  to  the  public  through  the  daily  paper  with  a 
compliment  from  the  editor  to  the  poet :  — 

"  We  have  been  favored  with  the  following  piece  of 
Danish  poetry,  Danish  being  the  court  language  in  Nor 
way,  addressed  to  Ole  Bull.  We  need  not  name  the 
author.  There  is  but  one  man  in  our  country  who  can 
clothe  poetic  ideas  in  such  variety  of  language.  We  have 
poets  who  can  make  the  Muse  talk  in  their  own  vernacu 
lar,  but  to  endue  her  with  the  gift  of  tongues  is  a  power 
confined  to  our  fellow-citizen.  A  literal  translation  is 
appended  for  those  who  do  not  speak  Danish.  The  refer 
ence  to  the  sword  of  old  heroic  Norway  being  turned  into 
the  lyre  of  the  modern  hero  who  subdues  with  music,  is 
very  fine." 

"TIL  OLE  BULL. 

"  Norge,  Du  staaer  paa  den  sneetakte  Tinde, 
Hoit  nser  ved  Himmelens  Blaa; 
Seer  mellem  Klipperne  Stiernen  oprinde, 
Skiout  over  Engens  Aa. 

"  Henne  det  klares  i  Skyen ! 
Skinnende  ligesom  Guld, 
Lysner,  paa  Fieldet  og  Byen, 
Dagen,  af  Glaederne  fuld. 

"  Norge,  Du  hilser  din  lysnende  Stierne, 
Elsker  den  meer  end  din  Heltetids  Sol. 
Solen  nedstiger,  og  seer  Du  det  gierne : 
Stiernen  oprinder  til  Himmelens  Pol. 

"  Norge,  Du  stolt  ved  dit  blinkende  Svserd, 
Stottende  dig  til  dit  gyldene  Skiold, 
Stred  for  de  Kisere,  for  Alter  og  Ha?rd, 
Ksempedes  mandigt  —  som  Jeru  var  din  Void. 

cc 


450  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XIX. 

"  Norge,  din  Helt  over  Bolgerne  red, 
Hoit  paa  bans  Havhest,  guldlokket  og  skion; 
Snart  over  Havet  og  Landene  skred ; 
Glad  dog  og  seierrigt  hiem  gik  igien. 

"Norge,  dit  Svserd  blev  en  Lyre: 
Himmelen  gav  hendes  Toner, 
Hiertet  og  Sielen  at  styre, 
Fuld  som  af  Kummerens  Moner. 

"  Hun  Aandens  Dybde  kan  rore, 
Modet  som  Ilden  antaende, 
Hoit  nser  ved  Skyerne  fore, 
Sorgen  til  Glaederne  vende. 

"  Norge,  dit  ^Erelys  aldrig  forsvinder ! 
Hoiere  Stiernen,  Du  elsker,  oprinder! 

"P. 

"TO   OLE   BULL. 

"  Norway,  thou  standest  on  the  snow-peaked  summit,  aloft  near  the 
In  En  li  h  neaven's  blue;  seest  among  the  cliffs  a  star  arise,  fair  over 
the  meadow  stream. 

"  Yonder,  't  is  bright  in  the  sky !  Shining  like  gold,  dawns  on 
mountain  and  town,  a  day  full  of  gladness. 

"  Norway,  thou  welcomest  the  dawning  star,  lovest  it  more  than  the 
sun  of  thy  heroic  age.  The  sun  sets,  and  thou  seest  it  willingly;  the 
star  rises  to  Heaven's  pole. 

"  Norway,  thou  proudly  with  thy  flashing  sword,  propped  on  thy 
golden  shield,  strove  for  thy  dear  ones,  for  altar  and  hearth,  fought 
manfully,  —  thy  strength  was  like  iron. 

"  Norway,  thy  hero  over  billows  rode,  high  on  his  sea-horse,  gold- 
locked  and  fair.  Swiftly  over  sea  and  land  he  strode,  yet  glad  and 
victorious  returned  home  again. 

"  Norway,  thy  sword  has  become  a  lyre ;  Heaven  gave  its  tones  to 
lead  heart  and  soul,  filled  as  with  grief's  longings. 

"  It  can  stir  the  depths  of  the  spirit,  kindle  emotion,  like  fire,  bear 
us  high  to  heaven,  and  turn  sorrow  to  joy. 

"  Norway,  the  light  of  thy  glory  never  fades.  Higher  the  star  thou 
lovest  rises." 

Percival  was  chagrined  and  disappointed  to  find,  instead 
of  the  enthusiasm  which  he  had  expected  in  return  for 


HUMOROUS    POETRY.  451 

such  a  testimonial  to  so  distinguished  a  guest,  that  Ole 
Bull,  remarking  that  there  were  few  mistakes  in  it, 
seemed  to  care  no  more  about  it  than  he  would  for  a  dish 
of  fruit  or  a  bouquet  of  flowers. 

It  belongs  here  to  mention  his  humorous  poetry.     Per- 
cival  was  not  a  wit ;  scarcely  a  humorist.     His  A  humorous 
attempts  were   usually    overdone.     The   point poet* 
was  too  little  concealed.     He  once  wrote  a  poem  which 
was  published  in  a  newspaper,  the  National  Pilot,  after 
the  style  of  Byron's  "  Don  Juan,"  only  that  he  surpassed 
Byron,  not  in  impiety,  but  in  a  certain  reckless  audacity, 
illustrating  the  proverb,  "  It  is  but  a  step  from  the  sub 
lime  to  the  ridiculous."     And  some  of  his  poems  yet  in, 
manuscript  read  as  if  the  very  bedlam  of  wit 
had  seized  upon  his  Muse,  while  others  are  more 
carefully  polished  and  elaborated.     One  of  them   is   a 
parody  of  Bryant's  poem, 

"  The  melancholy  days  are  come,  the  saddest  of  the  year," 
entitled  "  January  Thaw  "  :  — 

"  It  is  a  sunny  winter's  day,  a  January  thaw, 
The  robin  cheeps,  and  screams  the  jay,  and  the  crows  how  merrily 

caw,  — 

The  toad  will  pop  his  head  from  out  his  bed  in  the  mire  full  soon, 
If  we  have  for  a  week  or  longer  such  a  warm  and  cheery  noon. 
The  flies  around  my  window  buzz,  and  hum  their  song  of  joy, 
And  the  squirrel  with  his  nut  is  glad  as  a  child  with  his  New- Year's 

toy. 

"  0,  't  is  a  day  of  smoke  and  slosh,  but  then  't  is  still  and  warm, 
And  the  gulls  go  out  secure  to  sea,  for  they  feel  no  coming  storm, 
And  the  very  fish  are  busy  with  their  bright  scales  in  the  sun, 
And  the  crows  among  the  shelly  ooze  look  out  for  number  one,  — 
The  gray  goose  and  the  gander  and  the  drake  with  head  so  green, 
Go  muddling  in  the  shallow  pool,  and  sift  its  bottom  clean. 

"  And  0,  how  pleasant  through  the  fields  to  take  a  silent  walk,  — 
What  though  the  mud  is  deep,  and  oft  the  brooks  my  passage  balk, 


452  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XIX. 

When  all  is  clear  and  bright  above,  what  care  I,  if  below 
I  nothing  find  but  spongy  sod,  and  worse!  dissolving  snow; 
I  will  not,  when  the  rabbit  scuds  so  briskly  o'er  the  plain, 
Because  I  cannot  run  as  fast,  of  wet  and  mire  complain. 

"  The  chipmuck  chuckles  in  the  wood,  as  blithe  as  blithe  can  be,  — 
Like  Jacky  with  his  sugar-plum,  0  none  so  brave  as  he,  — 
Though  by  the  margin  of  the  spring  the  duck-meat  and  the  sedge 
Are  living  still,  and  green  the  grass  and  moss  around  its  edge. 
Yet  though  I  look  and  look  among  the  bushes  and  the  bowers, 
The  tender  things,  I  find  them  not,  —  0  where  are  they,  —  the 
flowers?" 

Another  specimen  of  his  humorous  and  familiar  style 
A  Revolution- is  the  "  Ballad  of  '  76  "  :  — 

ary  ballad. 

"  A  BALLAD  OF  '  76. 

"  The  British  are  a-coming,  boys,  the  British  are  a-coming  : 
The  toot-horn  makes  a  'tarnal  noise,  and  Jonathan  is  drumming; 
The  sparks  must  leave  their  sweethearts  now,  the  dads  their  wives 

and  daughters, 

And  they  must  go  away  to  camp,  and  meet  at  general  quarters. 
Up,  up,  and  take  your  rifle,  Dan,  don't  stand  your  eyes  a-rubbing; 
Come  on,  we  '11  give  the  Hessians  there  a  most  confounded  drubbing; 
I've  got  a  dozen  turkey  shot  well  rammed  down  in  my  barrel, 
And  when  I  find  a  redcoat,  —  why,  I'll  shoot  him  like  a  squirrel.' 

"  There  was  a  tumult  in  the  town,  a  tumult  and  a  hub-bub ; 
The  Captain  gave  his  orders  out,  the  drummer  beat  his  rub-dub; 
The  Captain  had  a  rusty  sword,  a  cockade  and  a  feather, 
Three-cornered  hat,  and  face  as  red  as  nose  in  frosty  weather. 
He  strutted  up  and  down  his  band  as  stately  as  a  hero, 
He  thundered  out  the  word  command,  as  absolute  as  Nero: 
'  Attention,  men,  and  shoulder  you  your  post  and  then  be  jogging.' 
4 1  vow,  it 's  hard,'  said  whimpering  Dan, '  I  'd  rather  be  a  logging.' 

"  And  now  his  soldiers  down  the  street  in  martial  trim  arraying, 
The  fifes  did  squeak,  the  drums  did  beat,  old  Yankee  Doodle  playing; 
He  strutted  on  before  his  men,  as  gallant  as  a  turkey, 
But  if  they  didn't  mind  his  word,  his  face  looked  grim  and  murky; 


THE    DREAM    OF   A    DAY.  453 

He  thundered  out, '  Attention,  men!    be  still  that  bustle  there; 
Now  form  a  line  ;  stop !  that  won't  do,  dress,  soldiers !  as  you  were.' 
And  thus  they  straggled  on  and  on  most  sadly  drooped  and  jaded, 
Until  before  the  ineeting-house  they  halted  and  paraded. 

*'  The  parson  then  came  forth  to  pray,  to  pray  before  they  started. 
He  prayed  that  they  might,  on  their  way,  be  bold  and  lion-hearted, 
That  they  might  set  their  face  as  flint  eschewing  every  evil, 
And  rout  those  red-coat  Philistines,  and  give  them  to  the  Devil; 
And  thus  he  prayed  an  hour-long  prayer,  and  gave  the  men  his 

blessing, 

And  sent  them  on  their  way  to  give  the  Germansers  a-dressing. 
And  now  they  marched  in  Indian  file  behind  their  Captain  loping, 
Their  guns,  as  when  they  go  to  hunt,  were  on  their  shoulders  sloping. 

"  They  marched  o'er  hill,  they  marched  o'er  dale,  the  way  was  long 

and  weary,  — 

The  night  began  to  gather  round,  and  it  was  dark  and  dreary; 
The  rain  began  to  drizzle  too,  their  coats  were  wet  and  soaking, 
They  wished  they  were  at  home  again,  in  chimney-corner  smoking. 
At  length  they  heard  the  drum  to  beat,  and  saw  the  fires  a-blazing, 
Where  folks  were,  for  their  victory,  a  noisy  frolic  raising ; 
They  nearer  drew  and  smelt  the  grog,  they  felt  like  pigs  in  clover, 
For  the  British,  they  had  yone  away,  and  the  battle,  it  was  over. 


His  last  volume,  and,  besides  his  contributions  to  peri 
odicals,  which  were  now  very  rare,  his  last  po-  The  Dream 
etical  venture,  was  «  The  Dream  of  a  Day,  and  of  aDay* 
other  Poems,"  published,  in  1843,  by  his  life-long  friend, 
Mr.  Sydney  Babcock.  It  was  a  16mo  of  two  hundred  and 
seventy  pages.  The  poem  which  gave  the  name  to  the 
volume  was  "  The  Dream  of  a  Day,"  probably  the  same 
which  Professor  North  once  read  before  one  of  the  college 
Societies.  The  rest  was  collected  from  his  occasional  po 
ems,  his  studies  in  the  airs  of  different  languages,  and  his 
peculiar  classic  melodies.  He  remarks  concerning  it  in 

the  Preface :  "  The  reader  will  perceive,  in  run- 
its  contents. 
ning  over  the  volume,  that  a  great  variety  of 


454  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XIX. 

measure  is  introduced  (more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty 
different  forms  or  modifications  of  stanza),  much  of  which 
is  borrowed  from  the  verse  of  other  languages,  particu 
larly  of  the  German."  "  The  limits  of  the  present  vol 
ume,"  he  adds,  "  as  well  as  the  character  of  its  contents 
in  general,  have  precluded  from  it  a  series  of  specimens 
of  different  varieties  or  systems  of  national  verse,  in 
which  I  had  designed  to  give,  under  the  general  head  of 
*  Studies  in  Verse,'  imitations  of  the  versification  of  all 
accessible  cultivated  languages,  systematically  arranged 
and  illustrated  by  comments.  These,  as  well  as  a  quite 
extensive  series  of  translations  from  different  languages 
(accompanied  with  illustrative  remarks),  part  of  which 
have  been  already  published  in  a  fugitive  form  and 
part  of  which  still  remain  in  manuscript,  may  hereafter 
furnish  materials  for  another  volume,  if  an  opportunity 
shall  ever  offer  for  its  publication."  The  "  Studies  in 
The  Pre-  Verse "  here  alluded  to  have  been  left  in  a 
^stuciic^in  complete  form,  and  are  ready  for  the  printer 
fresh  from  his  hands.  They  have  the  fol 
lowing  Preface :  "  In  the  present  communication  I  have 
commenced  a  series  of  attempts  at  imitating  the  verse  of 
different  languages.  I  do  not  claim  for  these  imitations 
anything  like  an  exact  correspondence  with  the  original 
metres,  but  they  may  serve  to  show,  perhaps,  that  our 
language  is  not  entirely  destitute  of  that  almost  univer 
sal  metrical  flexibility  which  has  been  claimed  for  the 
German.  A  language  like  ours,  so  abounding  in  conso 
nants,  with  so  slightly  marked  a  quantity  in  its  vowels, 
with  so  few  light  syllables  of  inflection,  and  with  such 
a  predominance  of  monosyllables,  particularly  in  its  more 
poetical  portion,  the  genuine  old  Saxon  and  the  early  Nor 
man,  cannot  succeed  well  in  catching  the  precise  movement 


1843. 
J£t.  48. 


]  DREAM    OF    A    DAY,    ETC.  455 


of  languages  characterized  by  opposite  qualities.  Even 
the  more  flexible  German,  in  imitating  measures  regulated 
by  quantity  (the  classic  and  Oriental),  is  obliged  to  resort 
to  a  different  principle  from  that  employed  in  the  latter. 
In  this  first  division  of  the  series  contemplated,  namely, 
the  Asiatic,  I  have  had  to  proceed  without  the  guide  which 
a  knowledge  of  the  original  languages  would  afford  me. 
I  have  only  resorted  to  such  aid  as  treatises  on  versifica 
tion  might  furnish  me,  particularly,  Ewald's  on  the  San 
scrit,  and  Sir  W.  Jones's  on  the  Persian  and  Arabic.  In 
the  specimens  here  given,  I  have  endeavored  to  catch 
something  of  the  form,  color,  and  spirit  of  the  poetry  of 
the  different  languages,  so  far  as  it  was  accessible  to  me, 
but  in  no  instance  have  I  translated  or  adhered  imita- 
tively  to  any  model.  In  some  of  the  specimens  I  have  fol 
lowed  more  closely  the  schemes  of  verse  in  the  treatises 
alluded  to  ;  in  others,  I  have  taken  greater  liberties,  or 
merely  derived  a  hint  from  them,  and  formed  a  verse  of 
my  own."  They  are  in  imitation  of  the  following  lan 
guages,  —  Sanscrit,  Persian,  Arabic,  Greek,  Italian, 
French,  German,  Gaelic,  Welsh,  Danish,  Swedish,  Scot 
tish,  Norse,  Flemish,  Finnish,  Bohemian,  Servian,  Rus 
sian.  He  also  composed  frequently  in  the  German  and 
Italian  ;  and  his  last  published  piece  of  poetry  was  a  Ger 
man  poem,  printed  in  one  of  the  German  papers  in  Wis 


(5ur  fcU  SBJteconffo 

,,Der  foeutfdje  patriot. 


/,  ©iff  fcit  t>a()in,  bit  a(te  tyeilmt,  l)tn  1 
SRuf  id)  umfcHJl  jtt  Mr,  t>tt  foeiltcjer  @etff  ? 
9loc|j  fdptoebjf  tw  fyerrUd?  fiber  meinem  @inn  : 
3d?  futjt'  etf,  une  t>u  mid?  jiim  ^avnpfe  rei^t. 


456  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XIX. 

Of  himself  he  says  in  the  Preface  to  "  The  Dream  of  a 
His  occupa-  Day  "  :  "  In  the  long  interval  which  has  elapsed 
notDbeenVe  since  the  publication  of  my  last  volume  of  poems 
poetical.  (sixteen  years),  I  have  been  most  of  the  time 
engaged  in  pursuits  which  have  little  or  no  relation  to 
poetical  studies,  or  which  have  been  peculiarly  adverse 
to  them  ;  consequently  the  composition  of  verse  has  been 
to  me  only  an  occasional  amusement  or  exercise." 

A  writer  in  the  Democratic  Review  for  April,  1844, 
Criticism  to  which  Percival  was  also  a  poetical  contrib- 


cratic  nl^°~  Utor5  gave  a  careful  notice  of  the  new  volume, 
together  with  a  somewhat  extended  biographical 
notice.  He  remarks  upon  the  neglect  which  the  poet 
now  met  with  from  the  periodical  press  :  "  A  new  volume 
from  the  pen  of  Percival  has  been  published  for  several 
months,  and  hitherto  no  one  of  the  popular  periodicals  in 
our  country  has  devoted  so  much  as  a  single  page  to  it. 
The  Knickerbocker  has  given  a  notice  of  it  in  less  space 
than  it  would  occupy  to  herald  the  appearance  of  an 
ephemeral  publication  ;  Graham's  Magazine  refers  to  it,  as 
would  seem,  only  to  carp  at  the  versification  of  a  single 
stanza  ;  the  North  American  Review  refers  to  it  only  by 
implication  in  a  notice  of  Griswold's  '  Poets  and  Poetry  of 
America.'  It  is  so  long  now  (sixteen  years)  since  Per- 

,,3um  ©cfctocrte  gretf  tdj,  barf  l>er  93ater  ttug, 
Unb  die  futjn  §u  betnem  fiohen  £rieg  ; 
Sort  brauft  bott  ebler  2Butl)  ber  £elbenjtig 
Unt>  fletgt  Me  ffetle  93aljn  511  tn  leftten  ©teg. 

,,<2Bir  ftegen  etnff  !    =0  2)eutfd)(anl>,  tut  ttnrff  frei  ! 
£>arf  fceutfcl;e  95ctt  erhebt  ft$  ttne  etn  SRann. 
f)in  rcQt  l>ie  fc^ttarje  9lac^t  t*er  SHabcret, 
2>er  ?Rac()e  93U^  jerfctymettert  ten  Xpvana. 
,  ten  2.2.  Sebrtur/  1855. 

,,3ameflf  ©. 


DREAM    OF    A    DAY,    ETC.  457 

cival  last  appeared  as  a  poet,  that  his  generation  seems  to 
have  passed  away  and  to  be  forgotten." 

Explaining  this,  the  writer  says  :  "  It  may  be,  and  it 
probably  is,  to  a  certain  extent,  Percival's  own  fault.  His 
spirit  will  not  brook  the  degradation  of  any  mode  of  court 
ing  popular  applause In  the  solitude  of  his  study 

he  pursues  his  literary  and  scientific  researches.  He  has 
no  organ  of  communication  with  the  public,  as  others  have, 
to  herald  his  own  praise.  He  has  no  clique  around  him 
to  puff  him  into  notoriety.  His  Muse  is  as  unpretending 
as  her  inspiration  is  lofty,  and  yet  she  hardly  condescends 
to  submit  her  claims  to  popular  judgment.  She  chooses 
a  hidden  corner  to  breathe  forth  her  sweetness,  without 
courting  the  praise  of  prejudiced  criticism  and  without 
disguising  herself  in  the  show  and  tinsel,  the  gaudy  illus 
trations  of  modern  literature." 

A  writer  in  the  New  York  Evangelist  noticed  the  new 
volume  in  a  careful  and  flattering  manner:  "It  is  In  the  Evan. 
evident  that  Dr.  Percival  has  found  amusement  gelist' 
in  labor,  —  for  not  without  much  thought  and  care  could 
these  pieces  be  composed,  even  by  one  possessed  of  his  ac 
knowledged  genius.  He  has  paid  great  attention  to  the 
art  of  versification,  and  has  given  surprising  instances  of 
those  rich  and  beautiful  modifications  of  expression  which 
lie  within  the  widely  extending  scope  of  the  English  lan 
guage.  A  beautiful  characteristic  of  these  poems  is  their 
cheerfulness  and  exquisite  purity.  The  author  fixes  his 
thoughts  chiefly  on  beautiful  skies,  playful  fountains,  hills 
covered  with  foliage,  sequestered  shades,  all  varieties  of 
flowery  blossom,  and  all  sweet  sounds  of  music,  and  every 
tender  and  glad  expression  of  human  voices.  Here  is  no 
indulgence  of  moroseness,  gloom,  or  misanthropy,  but  the 
poet  seemed  determined  that,  for  himself  and  his  readers, 

20 


458  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XIX. 

nature  shall  be  arrayed  in  her  most  gorgeous  attire,  and 
language  yield  her  finest  intonations. 

"  It  gives  us  pleasure,  also,  that  on  the  subject  of  purity 
we  can  speak  of  him,  as  of  Bryant,  as  without  a  fault. 
Often,  indeed,  he  alludes  to  female  beauty,  for  how  should 
an  amateur  of  beauty  in  all  nature  forget  it  in  the  fair 
portion  of  his  own  humanity?  But  his  allusions  are 
perfectly  chaste.  The  '  rose-lipped  '  maiden,  at  whose 
charms  he  glances,  is  always  virtuous  and  cheerful,  as  the 
blessed  trees  under  whose  shadow  she  muses,  or  the  mu 
sical  brook  on  whose  bank  she  wanders.  This  is  a  rare 
and  most  excellent  quality,  —  no  less  creditable  to  the 
refined  taste  and  lofty  genius  of  the  poet  than  to  the  ex 
cellence  of  the  man.  It  is  just  what  we  should  expect 
from  the  pen  of  him  who  wrote  the  '  Midnight  Revery  ot 
the  Lonely  Wife,'  and  who  so  excellently  portrayed  the 
*  Sweetness  of  Woman's  Decay/ 

"  There  is,  moreover,  a  serene  purity  of  style,  a  rich 
and  scholarly  unction,  a  spirit  of  graceful  elegance,  like 
the  chiselled  beauty  of  classic  song,  breathing  over  these 
verses,  which  declares  the  presence  of  a  highly  refined  and 
cultivated  mind.  His  joyous  visions  of  nature,  and  even 
his  eager  admiration  of  the 

'  Glory  of  the  grass  and  splendor  of  the  flower,' 
are  replete  with  allusions  to  the  imagery  of  the  ancients, 
and  radiant  with  the  beauty  of  classic  ornament.  In  this 
he  excels  all  American  poets,  and  reminds  one  most  pleas 
antly  of  the  inimitable  verses  of  Milton.  Dr.  Percival's 
mastery  of  the  art  of  versification,  his  exquisite  adaption 
of  both  measure  and  style  to  the  sentiment  to  be  expressed, 
appear  to  great  advantage  in  his  '  Lays  and  Songs.' 

"  Dr.  Percival  has  one  deficiency,  as  an  American  poet, 
in  which  he  resembles  Mr.  Bryant,  —  we  mean  an  appar- 


jEt!44».]  DREAM    OF    A    DAY,    ETC.  459 

ent  want  of  interest  in  the  prevailing  religion  of  his 
country.  We  say  apparent,  for  we  cannot  think  him 
really  indifferent.  Yet  his  poetry  does  not  exhibit,  at 
least  in  this  volume,  that  warmth  and  glow  of  tender  and 
sublime  emotion,  which  even  the  poetry  of  our  religion, 
considered  apart  from  its  eternal  truth,  would  be  likely  to 
enkindle  in  a  mind  so  highly  gifted." 

Another  critic  also  dwells  upon  his  wonderful  mastery 
of  the  art  of  versification  :  "  That  he  is  a  true  in  other 
son  of  song,  that  his  pieces  whether  grave  or  Periodicals- 
gay  are  not  like  the  immeasurable  load  of  rhyming  stuff 
which  throngs  our  modern  periodicals  and  magazines, 
that  he  is  full  of  thought  and  feeling,  —  these  are 
things  which  all  are  willing  to  acknowledge.  Indeed, 
in  his  own  peculiar  sphere,  Percival  has  no  superior 
among  the  poets  of  America.  As  an  exquisite  modeller 
of  verse,  in  all  its  numerous  kinds  and  forms,  he  is  unri 
valled.  He  seems  also  to  write  with  great  ease  and  ra 
pidity.  This  not  only  the  flow  of  the  verse  itself  would 
prove,  but  the  quantity  of  metrical  effusions  renders  cer 
tain."  And  still  another  adds:  "The  author  is  regarded  by 
many  of  our  best  scholars  as  having  been  more  successful 
than  any  American  writer,  living  or  dead,  in  his  imita 
tions  of  the  ancient  classics." 

There  is  truth  also  in  the  following,  the  secret,  indeed, 
why  he  is  less  popular  at  the  present  day  than  the  other 
poets  contemporary  with  him :  "  A  considerable  part  of 
the  volume  is  made  up  of  songs  that  thrill  on  the  charmed 
ear  and  almost  sing  themselves.  In  descriptions  of  natural 
scenery,  too,  these  poems  do  not  fall  at  all  behind  the 
author's  earlier  writings.  On  the  whole,  this  will  be  pro 
nounced  a  work  of  uncommon  beauty  and  finish,  though 
not  one  of  great  moral  power.  Percival  is  too  shy  a  man 


460  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XIX. 

to  take  deep  hold  on  our  sympathies.  He  draws  the  cur 
tain  too  studiously  over  the  workings  of  his  own  soul,  and 
fills  up  his  foreground  with  graceful  fancies,  pleasant,  but 
not  powerful  and  all-absorbing." 

The  following  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Bryant  was  printed 
By  Mr.  *n  tne  Evening  Post,  when  the  collected  edition 
Bryant.  of  ^s  works  was  published,  in  1859  :  — 

"  We  had  hardly  thought  Percival  had  written  so  much 
as  is  given  us  in  these  two  compactly,  but  neatly  printed 
poetical  volumes  of  four  hundred  pages  each.  Percival, 
however,  wrote  with  a  sort  of  natural  fluency,  which  ap 
proached  nearer  to  improvisation  than  the  manner  of  most 
of  our  poets.  One  can  easily  imagine,  in  reading  him, 
that  he  had  some  trouble  to  hold  back  the  thick-coming 
and  crowding  fancies  till  he  had  time  to  array  them  in 
language,  of  which  he  had  a  ready  command,  and  all  the 
stores  of  which  were  open  to  him.  No  less  musical  is  the 
versification  than  the  diction  is  rich  and  flexible ;  there  is 
nothing  harsh  or  abrupt,  and  nothing  obscure.  We  could 
not  say  that  there  is  any  striking  similarity  of  Percival's 
genius  to  that  of  Moore ;  and  yet  there  are  some  poems 
of  his  lingering  in  our  memory  of  which  we  could  say 
that,  without  a  little  reflection,  we  should  hardly  know  to 
which  of  these  poets  to  assign  them,  so  nearly  do  they  re 
semble  those  of  Moore  in  a  certain  brilliancy  of  imagery 
and  sweetness  of  versification.  Such,  for  example,  as 
that  beginning  with  the  line, 

'  In  Eastern  lands  they  talk  in  flowers,'  etc., 

and 

'  Deep  in  the  wave  is  a  coral  grove.* 

Some  of  the  Sonnets  have  all  the  majesty  of  those  of 
Wordsworth.  One  of  the  finest  is  the  last  in  the  first 


DREAM    OF    A    DAY,    ETC.  461 

volume  of  this  collection,  though  it  is  not  cast  in  the  reg 
ular  Italian  mould,  beginning  with  the  line, 

'  0  thou  sole-sitting  Spirit  of  Loneliness.' 

"  But  we  do  not  mean  to  enter  upon  an  estimate  of  the 
merits  of  Percival's  poetry.  Those  who  look  over  these 
volumes  will,  we  think,  wonder  that  poems  which  gave 
so  much  delight  when  they  first  appeared  have  been  so 
much  neglected  since,  and  will  be  glad  of  the  opportunity 
of  renewing  their  acquaintance  with  an  author  who,  while 
he  was  one  of  the  most  learned  of  poets,  was  also  one  of 
the  most  spontaneous  in  the  manifestations  of  genius." 

By  far  the  most  careful  criticism  which  the  volume 
received  was  an  article  in  the  New-Englander  for  Jan 
uary,  1844,  from  the  pen  of  Dr.  Erasmus  D.  North,  itself 
showing  a  mastery  of  the  details  of  versification  only  sec 
ond  to  Percival's. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

1843-1852. 

His  HERMITAGE.  —  His  ROOMS.  —  FAVORITE  RESORTS.  —  STORIES 
OF  HIS  PECULIAR  LIFE.  —  PRIVATE  STUDIES.  —  His  LIBRARY. — 
THE  PERCIVAL  CLUB.  —  SCIENTIFIC  AND  LITERARY  ENGAGE 
MENTS.  —  REMINISCENCES  OF  MR.  NOYES. 


ENTER  now  upon  the  period,  dating  from 
1843,  of  his  seclusion  from  men  and  his  resi 
dence  at  the  Hospital  in  New  Haven.  From 
this  time  until  he  began  his  Western  geological 
survey,  he  was  not  brought  in  any  way  before  the  public, 
and  the  general  idea  of  him,  even  in  the  city  which  he 
loved  and  had  made  his  home,  was  that  of  a  misanthrope 
He  enters  and  hermit.  His  close  and  laborious  confine- 
hermit  life,  ment  to  the  Survey,  and  the  stories  which  are 
always  current  about  one  who  shows  any  eccentricities 
of  character,  helped  to  confirm  this  impression.  The 
greatest  curiosity  prevailed  to  know  him  and  to  penetrate 
into  the  mysterious  apartments  where  he  lived,  but  he 
never  gratified  it ;  and  it  was  only  by  some  ingenious  ar 
tifice  that  the  inside  of  his  rooms  was  ever  seen.  A 
young  physician,  who  was  in  attendance  at  the  Hospital, 
attempted  it  and  succeeded.  The  poet  had  a  woodpile  in 
the  rear  of  the  building,  and  would  often  go  out  to  cut  his 
wood.  The  physician,  observing  him  there  one  day,  went 
out  and  without  a  word  began  to  split  his  wood.  In  a 


HIS    HERMITAGE.  463 

few  days  the  friendly  act  was  repeated,  but  not  a  word 
was  exchanged  ;  and  so  for  some  time  Percival  found  as 
sistance  in  preparing  his  fuel.  One  day  his  new-made 
friend  proposed  to  carry  it  up  to  his  room.  The  offer  was 
at  first  refused,  then  accepted ;  but  he  would  allow  the 
wood  to  be  brought  no  further  than  the  door.  Again  it 
was  repeated,  and  the  young  doctor,  as  if  in  forgetfulness, 
followed  the  poet  into  his  hermitage,  and,  taking  a  hasty 
glance,  retired  in  silence.  His  brother,  and  a  very  few 
friends  with  whom  he  was  most  intimate,  like  the  late  Mr. 
Herrick,  were  always  welcome ;  but  no  one  else,  espe 
cially  no  stranger,  was  ever  allov/ed  to  cross  his  thresh 
old.  If  they  came  to  see  him,  he  would  respond  to  the 
call,  untie  the  rope  which  fastened  the  knob  to  the  wall 
from  the  inside,  and,  standing  in  the  hall,  talk  for  hours,  or 
take  his  guests,  as  once  he  did  Mr.  Longfellow,  below  into 
the  reception-rooms  of  the  Hospital. 

His  unwillingness  to  admit  strangers  to  his  own  rooms 
is  easily  accounted  for.  The  late  Mr.  Sheldon  why  he  lived 
Moore,  his  life-long  friend,  once  remarked  to  me  inse«lusio»- 
that  the  poet  seemed  born  to  be  a  bachelor  instead  of  a 
married  man.  Even  if  he  was  not  born  to  such  a  destiny, 
his  hard  experience  of  life  compelled  him  to  be  one  ;  and 
being  now,  since  all  direct  income  was  cut  off,  too  poor  to 
board  any  longer  at  the  hotel,  he  was  taking  care  of 
himself  and  "keeping  bachelor's  hall."  His  living  was 
exceedingly  plain  and  simple.  He  used  to  go  to  the 
stores  in  the  evening  to  buy  crackers,  herrings,  dried- 
beef,  fruit,  and  other  food  which  could  be  easily  pre 
pared  ;  and  as  his  health  was  often  miserable,  it  was  no 
unusual  thing  for  him  to  go  whole  days  without  food.  In 
this  way  his  personal  expenses  were  reduced  to  a  mini 
mum  ;  arid  as  he  had  his  rooms  for  a  nominal  sum,  he 


464  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XX. 

could  live  almost  upon  nothing.  This  explains  why  he 
could  subsist  so  many  years  with  no  other  visible  means 
of  support  than  the  chance  jobs  of  scientific  or  literary 
work  which  came  to  him.  Then  again  he  was  always 
jealous  of  his  privacy,  and  did  not  wish  to  be  interrupted. 
The  gentleman  who  had  charge  of  the  Hospital  in  these 
years,  Pliny  A.  Jewett,  M.  D.,  often  had  access  to  his 
rooms,  and  was  always  consulted  by  Percival  when  he 
was  in  any  trouble  ;  but  he  was  allowed  there  only  because 
the  poet  could  not  do  without  him.  From  him  I  learn 
many  particulars  of  his  hermit  life.  He  was 

His  rooms. 

present  when  the  rooms  were  opened  after  Per 
cival  had  left  them,  and  he  knew  more  of  his  habits  at 
this  time  than  any  other  person.  He  had  three  rooms. 
His  library  and  minerals  were  in  one,  his  study  in  another, 
his  bedroom  in  another.  His  bed  was  simply  a  cot,  with 
mattress  above.  There  were  no  sheets,  and  a  block  of 
wood  placed  under  the  mattress  served  for  a  pillow.  There 
were  two  woollen  blankets  on  the  bed,  very  dirty.  Places 
at  the  foot  showed  that  he  had  laid  down  with  his  shoes 
on,  and  it  was  evident  that  he  had  often  slept  in  his 
clothes.  The  rooms  were  very  untidy,  and  probably  never 
swept.  There  were  perhaps  two  inches  of  rolling  lint 
upon  the  floor.  There  was  a  beaten  path  from  his  bed  to 
his  stove,  to  his  writing-table,  to  his  library,  and  to  the 
door. 

His  greatest  difficulty  while  residing  here  came  from 
the  curiosity  of  women,  who  were  always  eying  him  as  he 
Troubled  by  went  to  and  from  his  rooms.  There  was  one  in 
t5ofCfe-°S1"  particular,  an  unmarried  woman,  as  singular  as 

males.  j^  wag^  wjJQ  j^  ta^eQ  rooras  near  fojg  owri)  au{j 

who  was  obliged  to  make  use  of  the  same  hall.     She  gave 
him  great  annoyance.     He  was  fond  of  being  out  in  the 


JXJ  FAVORITE    RESORTS.  465 

night ;  his  hours  were  never  regular ;  and  this  ancient 
dame  was  also  fond  of  walking  in  the  darkness  up  and 
down  the  long  corridor,  and  he  would  often  see  her 
as  a  dimly  visible  ghost  in  the  distance,  or  she  would 
unexpectedly  confront  him  in  daytime  in  the  hall,  mut 
tering  to  herself,  but  never  speaking  to  him.  He  was 
afraid  of  her,  and  came  to  the  Doctor  one  day  in  great 
agitation,  setting  forth  her  freaks  and  asking  what  he 
could  do.  The  Doctor,  with  a  cool  audacity,  advised  him 
to  marry  her,  and  that  ended  the  matter.  It  should  be 
added,  however,  that  his  rooms  were  afterwards  parti 
tioned  off,  so  that  he  could  have  an  entrance  through  the 
steward's  apartments,  and  not  have  his  privacy  disturbed. 
In  contrast  with  this  experience,  a  lady,  who  was  a  little 
girl  then,  and  who  used  frequently  to  visit  a  sick  woman 
at  the  Hospital,  tells  me  that  she  always  bowed  to  him  as 
she  met  him  in  her  walks,  and  that  he  always  returned 
her  salutation  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

His  movements  were  often  inexplicable.  He  would  go 
away  for  a  week  at  a  time,  no  one  knew  where,  but  he 
always  came  back,  often  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  His 
favorite  method  of  travelling  was  on  foot,  and  His  favorite 
this  his  poverty  also  compelled.  He  greatly  en-  walk3' 
joyed  botanical  and  geological  excursions.  Sometimes 
an  intimate  friend  accompanied  him,  as  Mr.  Augur  or  Mr. 
Monson  ;  usually  he  went  alone.  Dr.  Jewett  once  met 
him  on  one  of  these  tours  a  few  miles  from  the  city,  and 
invited  him  to  ride,  but  he  declined,  saying  he  liked  to 
walk.  At  another  time,  he  said  there  was  not  a  square 
mile  of  the  State  which  he  had  not  been  over.  A  favor 
ite  retreat  with  him  was  Mount  Carmel,  a  bold  elevation 
some  seven  miles  north  of  New  Haven,  where  a  cave 
was  called  by  his  name.  He  once  took  the  elder  Dana, 
20*  BD 


466  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XX. 

who  was  lecturing  in  New  Haven  at  the  time,  to  his 
chosen  haunts  here.  Another  place  of  resort  was  the 
Hanging  Hills  of  Meriden,  from  whose  formation  he  de 
rived  a  theory  concerning  the  Mosaic  account  of  crea 
tion.  He  knew  no  obstacles  to  these  excursions,  and  he 
was  always  an  enthusiastic  botanist.  The  lines  of  Aubrey 
De  Vere,  written  for  another  purpose,  aptly  describe 
him  :  — 

"  I  have  beheld  him  on  a  wintry  plant 

An  eye  delighted  bending  full  an  hour  ! 
As  though  the  Spring  o'er  every  tendril  scant 

Crept  on  beneath  his  ken,  from  flower  to  flower  : 
Low  shed  and  brake  to  him  were  hall  and  bower  ! 

O'er  a  leafs  margin  he  would  pore  and  gaze 
As  on  some  problem  of  the  starry  maze !" 

He  often  visited  Berlin,  staying  with  the  friends  of  his 
boyhood.     On  his  way  home  from  one  of  these 

Introduc-  .   .  %  ' 

tion  to  G.  visits,  while  waiting  for  the  cars  at  the  Berlin 
Junction,  he  met  the  late  G.  P.  R.  James,  the 
novelist,  who,  in  company  with  a  mutual  friend,  had  been 
spending  the  day  in  Farmington.  Mr.  James  had  all  the 
airs  of  a  man  of  society  ;  and  Percival  was  specially  shrink 
ing  and  modest  in  the  presence  of  a  stranger,  making  his 
worst  impression  at  fir*t.  The  parties  were  introduced, 
and  an  attempt  was  made  at  conversation,  but  they  did  not 
get  on  at  all.  Percival  showed  a  decided  repugnance,  Mr. 
James  a  genteel  contempt.  Soon  entering  the  cars,  they 
took  different  seats,  and  Mr.  James  said,  "  My  friend,  who 
is  that  Mr.  Percival?"  It  was  replied  that  he  was  a  dis 
tinguished  poet,  when  Mr.  James  said,  "  A  little  cracked, 
is  n't  he  ?  "  The  gentleman  with  him  met  Percival  a  few 
days  after,  who  inquired,  "  Who  is  that  Mr.  James  ? " 
"  G.  P.  R.  James,  the  novelist,"  was  the  reply.  Said 
Percival,  "  A  little  drunk,  was  n't  he  ?  " 


JUt^.]      STORIES    OF    HIS    PECULIAR    LIFE.         467 

Percival  shared  with  Dr.  Johnson  that  strong  feeling 
of  independence  which  makes  one  in  need  jeal- 


ous  of  the  favors  of  others.  The  late  Professor  ceive  favors. 
Silliman,  noticing  that  the  cap*  which  so  long  peered 
above  the  cloak  in  which  he  wrapped  himself  had  become 
altogether  too  shabby,  left  word  with  Mr.  Mansfield,  a  hat 
ter  on  Chapel  Street,  to  present  him  with  a  new  hat.  In 
the  most  delicate  manner  possible,  Mr.  Mansfield  said  to 
him  that  any  hat  upon  his  shelves  was  at  his  service,  but 
the  poet  turned  on  his  heel  in  contempt.  One  Thanksgiv 
ing-day,  when  it  was  known  that  he  must  be  almost  suf 
fering  for  the  want  of  food,  the  janitor  of  the  Hospital  sent 
him  a  generous  dinner.  It  remained  at  his  door  untouched. 
A  kinsman  once  paid  him  two  dollars  for  information 
which  he  had  received  from  him.  He  had  repeatedly  re 
fused  to  receive  money  ;  but  it  was  slipped  into  his  hand 
as  they  parted,  with  the  expectation  that  Percival  would 
keep  it.  In  a  few  days,  however,  the  money  was  re 
turned  through  one  of  the  booksellers.  He  thought  it 
was  the  sacred  duty  of  the  scholar  to  impart  freely  all  the 
information  he  could,  when  applied  to;  and  he  would 
stand  for  hours  in  the  hall  leading  to  his  rooms,  thus  dis 
pensing  his  knowledge  to  the  friends  who  came  to  him. 

His  outward  literary  activity  had  now  almost  entirely 
ceased.  Except  a  poem  which  was  read  by  his  friend, 
Dr.  North,  before  the  Young  Men's  Institute  in  New 
Haven,  in  December,  1846,  and  two  or  three  which  ap 
peared  in  the  Democratic  Review,  and  a  song  f  for  the 
Alumni  at  Yale,  nothing  was  published  by  him  for  some 
time.  Yet  he  had  ample  opportunities  to  have  supported 

*  This  is  preserved  in  the  rooms  of  the  State  Historical  Society 
in  New  Haven.     It  was  a  common  glazed  cloth  cap. 
t  Appendix  J. 


468  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XX. 

himself  very  comfortably  in  this  way.    The  late  Rufus  W. 
Kindness       Griswold  was  interested  in  him,  and  wrote  to 

of  R..  \V. 

Griswoid.  him  in  June,  1842,  offering  him,  as  the  editor  of 
Graham's  Magazine,  ten  dollars  for  any  poem,  whether  son 
net,  song,  or  fragment.  He  said,  "  A  poem  from  your 
pen  will  be  regarded  as  a  draft  payable  at  sight."  He 
also  begged  leave,  as  having  connections  with  many  of 
the  leading  publishers,  to  offer  his  services  "  in  any 
way  in  which  you  see  fit  to  command  me";  and  these  kind 
offers  were  again  made  several  years  after.  His  difficult 
dealings  with  publishers  had  made  him  exceedingly  shy, 
and  nothing  came  of  it.  But  he  now  had  very  gratifying 
evidence  every  year,  in  the  shape  of  elections  to  honor 
ary  memberships  in  the  literary  societies  of  nearly  ev 
ery  embryo  university  in  the  land,  of  the  high  regard  in 
which  he  was  held  by  the  younger  men,  to  whose  care  his 
reputation  as  a  poet  must  be  committed.  He  was  also 
elected,  in  1846,  a  member  of  the  American  Oriental  So- 
Troubied  ciety.  In  those  days  the  unavoidable  conse- 
aJt^raph  quence  of  a  widely  extended  reputation  was  the 
constant  impertinent  dunning,  on  the  part  of 
ambitious  youngsters,  for  autographs;  but  they  got  no  an 
swer,  even  when  they  enclosed  the  postage  on  the  letter 
to  be  returned.  He  seldom  gave  his  autograph  to  any 
one.  Once  he  gave  it  to  Mr.  Augur,  once  to  President 
Woolsey,  and  once  to  Yung  Wing,  a  Chinese  scholar  at 
Yale,  with  whom  he  cultivated  an  acquaintance,  and 
whose  autograph,  given  in  exchange  in  Chinese,  is  among 
the  poet's  papers. 

An  incident  was  related  to  me  by  the  late  Professor 
stories  of  his  Olmsted,  which  should  find  place  here.     Per- 

comnmnica- 


cival  was  always  interested  in  the  meetings  of 
the  Connecticut  Academy,  composed  of  the  literary  and 


STORIES    OF    HIS    PECULIAR    LIFE.         469 

other  professional  gentlemen  in  and  near  New  Haven; 
and  once  he  read  before  them  a  scientific  paper  on  the 
geological  rock  formations  about  the  city,  particularly 
east  and  west  Rocks.  He  had  a  new  theory  to  account 
for  them,  and  in  his  low,  whispering,  uniform  voice  spoke 
perhaps  an  hour  and  a  half.  The  members  were  at  first 
greatly  interested,  but  his  monotone  and  the  intricacy  into 
which  he  led  the  subject  soon  grew  wearisome.  At  length 
he  stopped  a  moment,  and  Professor  Sillirnan,  who  was 
chairman,  jumped  up,  and  thanking  him  for  his  valuable 
remarks,  said  he  would  add  a  few  words,  and  then  dis 
missed  the  meeting.  Percival  took  offence,  and  never  for 
got  it.  There  are  many  other  instances  of  his  extraordi 
nary  communicativeness.  "  I  have  known  him  to  stand 
and  talk,"  said  one  who  knew  him  well,  "  in  an  open  door 
way,  holding  by  the  handle  of  the  door,  at  midnight,  in 
the  coldest  night  of  a  severe  winter,  until,  for  my  own 
comfort,  I  was  compelled  to  insist  upon  his  coming  in  or 
going  out.  At  that  time,  I  knew  he  had  not  tasted  food 
for  twelve  hours,  perhaps  for  a  much  longer  period."  On 
another  occasion,  he  was  induced  to  spend  an  evening  at 
Mr.  James  A.  Hillhouse's,  with  a  small  circle  of  friends. 
In  the  conversation  some  question  happened  to  arise  in 
regard  to  hickory-trees,  and  his  opinion  was  asked.  He 
immediately  began  a  dissertation  on  hickory-trees,  in  the 
midst  of  which  he  was  at  length  interrupted  by  the  break 
ing  up  of  the  party  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  In 
like  manner,  when  visiting  one  day  at  the  house  of  Dr. 
Gridley  in  Berlin,  he  happened  to  go  into  the  garden, 
where  Mrs.  Gridley  asked  him  a  question  about  a  peach- 
tree,  upon  which  he  gave  her  in  detail  the  history  of  the 
tree,  the  places  most  favorable  to  its  growth,  the  different 
varieties,  and  all  that  could  be  said  about  it.  Dr.  Jewett 


470  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XX. 

tells  me  that  he  always  used  to  avoid  him,  if  possible,  in  the 
street,  because  he  would  detain  him  so  long  at  the  street-cor 
ners  with  these  conversations  ;  and  when,  as  sometimes,  the 
Doctor  was  obliged  to  cut  him  short,  to  attend  to  his  pro 
fessional  duties,  the  next  time  they  met,  Percival,  with  the 
remark,  "  As  I  was  saying,"  would  resume  his  discourse 
where  he  had  left  off. 

It  is  difficult  to  ascertain  what  were  his  private  studies 
His  private  ^n  a^  these  years.  His  brother  tells  me  that 

lie8'  once,  when  he  visited  him,  he  found  him  en 
gaged  in  studying  the  chorus  of  songs  in  different  lan 
guages,  as  a  part  of  extensive  studies  in  music  ;  and  one 
chorus  he  sang  to  him,  remarking  that  he  thought  it  very 

fine, 

"  Old  Briton's  wooden  walls, 
Old  Briton's  wooden  walls, 
Old  Briton's  wooden  walls, 

We  '11  toast 
Old  Briton's  wooden  walls." 

He  was  also  engaged  upon  the  deeper  study  of  the  mod 
ern  European  languages,  the  same  pursuits  which  had 
beguiled  his  loneliness  and  leisure  for  many  years  before. 
He  was  often  at  the  college  library  ;  but  he  loved,  with  the 
spirit  of  a  true  scholar,  "  the  still  air  of  delightful  studies  " 
among  his  own  books.  His  library,  which 

His  library.  J 

numbered  at  his  death  some  ten  thousand  vol 
umes,  was  his  most  congenial  home.  This  was  very  mis 
cellaneous,  containing  curious  and  quaint  works  in  all 
languages,  and  especially  full  in  books  on  philology,  his 
tory,  and  theology.  It  would  seem  that  he  bought  every 
singular  theological  treatise  he  could  lay  hands  .on.  There 
were  also  numerous  geological  reports,  works  on  geogra 
phy,  and  the  leading  poets  in  all  languages.  He  had  read 
so  widely,  and  with  such  distinct  impressions,  that  his 


HIS    LIBRARY.  471 

library  was  chiefly  filled  with  those  works  which  made 
good  the  gaps  in  his  own  knowledge.  He  hardly  cut  the 
leaves  of  his  books,  and  it  is  curious  to  find  his  Greek 
tragedies,  books  often  in  his  hands,  just  as  they  came 
from  the  press.  He  read  faster  than  another  could  count 
the  lines  upon  the  page,  and  did  not  often  need  to  look  at 
a  book  the  second  time.  He  derived  most  of  his  knowl 
edge  of  the  current  literature  of  the  day  by  thus  conning 
over  new  books  as  he  stood  by  the  counter  in  the  book 
stores.  His  valuable  library  was  scattered  at  a  public 
sale  in  Boston,  in  1860,  and  but  little  now  remains  to 
show  the  wonderful  reach  of  his  knowledge  and  attain 
ments.  A  neighbor  in  Kensington,  whom  he  used  often 
to  visit,  —  the  late  Sheldon  Moore, — jotted  down  in  a 
diary  some  brief  accounts  of  his  conversations  Notes  of  his 

conversa- 

ori  important  subjects.  Under  date  August  25,  tions. 
1848,  he  writes  :  "  Dr.  Percival  is  now  here.  His  health 
has  not  been  very  good  lately.  He  seems  to  doubt  the 
capacity  of  the  French  to  establish  a  republic,  says  they 
are  substantially  the  same  people  they  were  in  the  days 
of  Tacitus.  He  also  thinks  the  water-cure  system  pretty 
much  a  humbug."  Under  date  September  2,  1848,  he 
writes :  "  Dr.  Percival  says  the  casus  of  the  ancient  phi 
losophers  was  not  what  we  now  call  chance,  but  was  a  for 
mation  of  the  universe  by  the  fall  of  the  particles  tending 
downwards,  or  to  the  centre,  but  governed  by  fixed  laws  ; 
but,  if  I  understood  him  rightly,  not  excluding  a  Creator 
or  Lawgiver.  In  Greek,  TTTOHTIS  expressed  the  same  idea." 
Under  date  April  24,  1849,  he  writes :  "  Dr.  Percival 
visited  me.  I  noted  that  he  did  not  think  the  accounts  of 
the  great  extent  of  the  California  gold-mines  likely  to  be 
true,  being  contrary  to  the  experience  as  to  former 
mines."  In  a  manuscript  paper,  which  evidently  belongs 


472  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       '[CHAP.  XX. 

to  this  period,  the  poet  gives  us  some  insight  into  the 
way  in  which  he  spent  much  of  his  time  ;  and  his  poetry 
amply  shows  that  the  following  confession  is  real :  "  I  have 
of  late  fallen  into  an  unconquerable  habit  of  dreaming 
with  my  eyes  wide  open.  My  whole  life  has  been  for 
some  time  a  round  of  reveries.  I  have  lived  in  a  world 
of  my  own  imagining  ;  and  such  has  been  the  vividness  of 
my  conceptions,  that  I  can,  at  any  moment  when  I  have 
an  inclination,  summon  them  to  my  mental  presence  with 
the  ease  of  a  magician  of  old,  when  he  evoked  with  his 
charmed  rod  the  shades  of  the  departed.  There  is  a 
weariness  in  the  long-continued  repetition  of  any  habit, 
however  delightful  it  may  be  in  the  beginning,  and  so  I 
have  found  it  with  my  habit  of  day  dreams." 

Yet  he  was  not  entirely  a  recluse.  There  were  a  num- 
Not  entirely  her  of  men  living  in  New  Haven  at  this  time, 
use-  each  idiosyncratic,  all  bachelors  excepting  one, 
who,  with  all  their  peculiarities,  showed  a  striking  fondness 
for  each  other's  society.  Each  one  was  enough  different 
from  his  fellow  to  like  him,  and  their  acquaintance  grad 
ually  ripened  into  an  informal  club.  The  members  were 
The  Percivai  tne  ^ate  Erasmus  D.  North,  M.  D.,  a  man  of 
genius  and  learning,  for  years  the  Professor  of 
Elocution  at  Yale,  and  called  "  Lord  North  "  by  the 
students  ;  the  late  David  Hinman,  an  engraver  ;  the  late 
Horatio  Augur,  whose  Jephthah's  Daughter  is  pronounced 
to  be  one  of  the  finest  pieces  of  statuary  ever  wrought  by  an 
American  sculptor,  and  who  taught  himself  the  sculptor's 
art ;  the  late  William  Tully,  M.  D.,  a  man  who  was  a 
walking  encyclopaedia  in  his  profession,  but  who  lacked 
the  ambition  to  put  his  admirable  powers  to  service  ;  and 
the  late  Edward  C.  Herrick,  a  prompt,  energetic,  self- 
made  man,  who  was  always  a  friend  to  Percivai,  who 


1?60.]  THE    PERCIVAL    CLUB.  473 

shared  with  him  a  peculiar  fondness  for  scientific  pur 
suits,  and  who  was  his  financial  adviser  in  later  years. 
Mr.  Charles  Monson  was  also  sometimes  a  member. 
They  used  to  board  together,  and  this  was  probably  the 
way  in  which  they  discovered  their  fondness  for  each  other, 
though  at  this  period  Percival  lived  alone  at  the  Hospital ; 
but  he  often  spent  his  evenings  with  them ;  and  as  none  of 
the  party  ever  regarded  the  diiference  between  day  and 
night,  their  sittings  were  apt  to  be  regulated  entirely  by 
their  conversational  powers.  They  were  all  great  talkers; 
each  one  must  have  his  say,  and  each  knew  so  much  more 
than  ordinary  people  that  it  took  a  long  time  to  exhaust 
a  subject.  Hence  they  often  sat  up  the  greater  part  of 
the  night.  They  would  be  talking  together,  Their  late 
and  about  midnight  Percival  would  think  of Slttmgs* 
going  home  ;  their  conversation  unfinished,  Dr.  North 
would  accompany  him ;  still  talking,  Percival  would  then 
return  with  Dr.  North,  often  repeating  the  walk  several 
times ;  and  at  their  sittings,  morning  would  not  unfre- 
quently  break  in  upon  them.  A  writer  in  Putnam's 
Monthly  for  December,  1856,  relates  an  anecdote  con 
cerning  one  of  them.  The  poet  had  been  spending  an 
evening  with  his  friend  Dr.  North,  and,  on  leaving,  the 
Doctor  accompanied  him  to  the  door,  where  their  atten 
tion  was  attracted  by  a  remarkable  light  in  the  horizon.  It 
seemed  too  far  east  for  the  aurora  and  it  was  at  the  wrong 
time  in  the  month  for  the  moon.  While  they  were  watch 
ing  it  with  intense  interest,  speculating  on  its  probable 
cause,  and  congratulating  themselves  on  their  good  fortune 
in  witnessing  so  remarkable  a  phenomenon,  the  diffuse 
light  was  suddenly  displaced  by  a  more  concentrated  body 
of  rays ;  and  the  round  red  sun,  rising  at  his  regular  time, 
destroyed  the  phenomenon  and  disgusted  the  observers. 


474  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XX. 

Occasionally  he  had  scientific  engagements,  calling  him 
Scientific  en-  away  from  home.  These  were  procured  for 
isfi^n?8  m  him  by  his  high  reputation  as  the  Geologist  of 
the  State.  In  1851,  he  was  engaged  in  exam 
ining  a  coal-mine  at  Hillsborough,  Albert  County,  New 
Brunswick.  At  about  the  same  time,  he  went  westward 
to  make  a  survey  of  Edwards'  Island,  Lake  Erie ;  and  it 
was,  perhaps,  on  the  same  journey  that  he  was  employed 
by  an  Eastern  company  to  make  a  mineral  examination 
in  Southwestern  Missouri,  and  went  upon  the  Ozark 
Mountains ;  but  the  journey  was  fruitless.  Returning 
home,  he  was  induced  to  examine  for  Mr.  C.  D.  Archi 
bald,  an  English  gentleman,  some  iron-mines  in  Nova 
Scotia.  They  were  declared  to  be  in  great  confusion  by 
several  scientific  men.  An  examination  convinced  Perci- 
val  that  they  were  at  fault.  He  pointed  out  to  the  own 
ers  the  order  of  the  arrangement  of  the- ore  and  rock; 
and  when  the  plan  was  adopted  and  followed,  it  was  found 
to  be  correct,  and  the  mines  were  afterwards  worked 
with  great  profit.  Such  were  his  scientific  occupations 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  time  included  within  this 
chapter.  He  had  other  work  also.  Within  this  period 
he  labored  in  the  department  of  lexicography  again, 
Philological  translating  for  Professor  E.  A.  Andrews,  letters 
labors.  j^  an(j  jj  of  Freund's  Latin  Lexicon,  and  with 
his  usual  diligence  and  faithfulness  verifying  examples 
and  establishing  authorities.*  He  was  also  engaged 
upon  the  revision  of  Webster's  Dictionary,  which  was 
completed,  under  the  superintendence  of  the  late  Pro 
fessor  Goodrich,  in  1847.  In  the  Preface  to  that  work 
he  paid  the  following  tribute  to  Percival :  "It  is  obvi 
ously  impossible  for  any  one  mind  to  embrace  with  accu- 
*  Poems,  Vol.  I.  p.  xxx. 


LITERARY    ENGAGEMENTS.  475 

racy  all  the  various  departments  of  knowledge  which  are 
now  brought  within  the  compass  of  a  dictionary.  Hence 
arise  most  of  the  errors  and  inconsistencies  which  abound 
in  works  of  this  kind.  To  avoid  these  as  far  as  possible, 
especially  in  matters  of  science,  the  editor,  at  first,  made 
an  arrangement  with  Dr.  James  G.  Percival,  who  had 
rendered  important  assistance  to  Dr.  Webster  in  the 
edition  of  1828,  to  take  the  entire  charge  of  revising  the 
scientific  articles  embraced  in  this  work.  This  revision, 
however,  owing  to  causes  beyond  the  control  of  either 
party,  was  extended  to  but  little  more  than  two  letters  of 
the  alphabet."  The  writer  in  Putnam's  Monthly  adds 
the  true  reason  why  this  engagement  was  broken  why  they 

were  discon- 

off:  "  He  could  only  work  in  his  own  time  and  tinued. 
way.  Nothing  could  be  passed  over  until  thoroughly 
finished ;  and  the  consequence  was,  that  he  would  some 
times  spend  days  upon  some  single  insignificant  word, 
whose  history,  if  attainable,  was  of  no  importance.  In 
the  mean  time,  printers,  compositors,  and  proof-readers 
must  be  paid  for  standing  idle  ;  so,  after  a  short  trial, 
they  were  reluctantly  compelled  to  give  him  up,  and  go 
on  without  his  aid.  During  the  time  he  was  occupied  on 
this  work,  I  occasionally  saw  him  at  Professor  Goodrich's 
rooms.  He  pursued  his  investigations  standing  by  the 
side  of  the  book-shelves ;  generally  holding  two  or  three 
books  in  his  hands,  having  a  pile  of  others  collected  at  his 
feet,  wearing  on  his  head  his  ragged  leather  cap,  usually 
keeping  his  back  turned  toward  any  persons  in  the  room, 
and  never,  while  I  was  present,  speaking  or  raising  his 
eyes  from  his  work." 

I  complete  this  chapter  with  a  letter  which  has  been 
kindly  furnished  by  Mr.  Benjamin  Noyes,  cover-  A  letter 

from  Mr. 

ing  this  entire  period,  and  briefly  mentioning  Noyes. 
earlier  events:  — 


476  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XX. 

TO  THE  EDITOR. 

NEW  HAVEN,  January  13,  1866. 

DEAR  SIR,  — 

....  Percival  was  a  daily  frequenter  of  the  book- 
Gen.  Howe's  store  of  General  Hezekiah  Howe,  where  the 

bookstore.       ^  R  c    Herrick  and  mygelf  were  derkg>  dat. 

ing  back  to  1831  or  1832.  The  next  succeeding  three  or 
four  years  were  made  exceedingly  interesting,  as  con 
nected  with  Percival,  and  the  publication  by  General 
Howe  and  the  reading  in  the  store  of  the  proof-sheets 
of  Silliman's  Chemistry,  Day's  Mathematics,  Bakewell's 
Geology,  Bridge's  Conic  Sections,  Tacitus,  Cicero  de 
Oratore,  Olmsted's  Philosophy,  Sibb's  Hebrew  Lexicon, 
and  several  books  of  minor  importance.  The  authors 
or  editors  of  these  books  used  to  confer  frequently  with 
Percival  and  Herrick,  when  reading  the  proofs,  so  that 
the  bookstore  became  the  resort  of  literary  and  refined 
professional  gentlemen,  to  avail  themselves  of  Percival's 
universal  acquirements  and  of  his  discussion  of  intricate, 
scientific,  and  other  questions  which  would  be  raised  con 
cerning  the  books  then  being  printed. 

As  a  boy  in  the  store,  I  began  to  carry  books  by  the 
Mr.  Noyes     bundle   to    Percival's    lodgings    in    Broadway, 

carries  book  a  .  * 

for  Percival.  where  he  lived  alone  and  in  seclusion  for  many 
years.  Upon  no  occasion  would  he  permit  books  to  be 
brought  to  him  except  in  the  night  season ;  and  no  light 
was  allowed.  Indeed,  it  was  said  that  no  one  entered 
the  building  for  years,  except  myself,  who  had  the  privi 
lege  of  carrying  up  his  books.  It  was  known  that,  after 
providing  scantily  for  his  own  subsistence,  the  remainder 
of  his  means  was  devoted  to  the  purchase  of  books,  and 


REMINISCENCES    OF    MR.    NOYES.          477 

even  a  considerable  debt  was  contracted  and  a  mortgage 
of  his  books  was  made,  which  was  not  removed  until  the 
settlement  of  his  estate  after  his  death.     After  complet 
ing  and  being  paid  for  his  geological  survey,  he  devoted 
almost  the  entire  sum  to  the  purchase  of  books,  The  poet 
nearly  all  of  which,  to  the  extent  of  at  least  Ko9n^ 
five  hundred  volumes,  were  purchased  of  me.  for  books> 
Indeed,  he  checked  out  of  the  New  Haven  Bank  his  last 
dollar  for  books. 

While  pursuing  the  survey  of  the  State,  he  purchased 
a  horse,  saddle,  and  saddle-bags  for  sixty  dol-  gtory  about 
lars,  and  carried  specimens  and  the  tools  to  pro-  his  hor3e> 
cure  them  in  the  saddle-bags.  His  horse  was  used  mainly 
to  carry  them.  He  told  me  that  he  rarely  mounted  him, 
and  that,  after  a  while,  the  horse  would  not  even  follow 
him  with  a  bridle  in  hand  ;  for  he  learned  the  peculiar 
character  of  his  owner,  and  did  as  he  pleased.  "  Finally," 
said  Percival,  "  I  used  to  get  a  big  apple,  place  it  in  my 
hand  behind  me  with  the  bridle,  and,  as  the  horse  was 
fond  of  apples,  he  would  follow  while  I  walked  on  and 
thus  induced  him  to  advance."  He  related  many  inci 
dents  where  the  people  refused  to  let  him  examine  their 
lands.  Several  times  he  had  dogs  set  upon  him  to  draw 
him  off.  He  often  met  men  with  divining-rods,  and  told 
how  bewildered  people  became  under  the  pressure  of  such 
folly. 

In  1849  I  employed  him  to  make  a  prospecting  survey 
for  a  railroad  from  New  Haven,  via  Derby  and  Makes  the 
Danbury,  to  Fishkill.    He  performed  the  work, 


aided  by  an  assistant,  and  made  a  line  report,  designating 
the  entire  route  by  roads,  houses,  streams,  etc.,  so  that  to 
this  day  there  has  never  been  any  difficulty  in  recogniz 
ing  his  survey  mile  by  mile  ;  and  it  has  been  a  constant 


478  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XX. 

reference  in  subsequent  surveys.  On  his  return,  he 
joined  my  family  at  the  table  three  times,  and,  so  far  as  I 
know,  it  was  his  first  deviation  from  his  long  exclusion 
from  the  family  circle  or  table.  He  appeared  to  enjoy 
the  digression,  and  repeated  it  with  seeming  pleasure. 
On  one  of  these  occasions,  he  narrated  to  me  his  early 
days,  including  his  residence  with  an  uncle  on  Long  Isl 
and,  where,  with  other  boys,  he  frolicked  on  the  ice  bare 
footed. 

But  once  in  my  life  did  I  see  the  inside  of  his  rooms 
at  the  Hospital  by  daylight.  This  exposed  his  bed,  which 
His  rooms  was  a  single  cot?  clothed  in  the  most  primitive 
manner ;  books,  papers,  and  maps  formed  the 
lining  of  the  side  walls  and  carpeted  the  floors.  When 
about  to  be  absent,  he  used  to  let  me  know  it,  and  but 
for  that,  his  rooms  would  several  times  have  been  broken 
into  to  ascertain  if  he  were  there  and  living. 

About  the  year  1836  he  became  deeply  interested  in 
His  music  German  verse  and  music,  and  frequently  spent 

and  German  * 

verses.  hours  after  the  closing  of  the  store  in  reading  to 
me  German  songs ;  and  then  having  procured  the  music, 
would  show  me  how  beautifully  the  music  harmonized 
with  the  words.  Finally,  he  borrowed  my  accordion  and 
learned  to  use  it*  He  would  bring  it  back  and  run  over 

*  Concerning  his  learning  to  use  the  accordion,  the  following  story 
is  told  :  "  On  another  occasion,  he  remarked  to  a  friend  that  he 
should  like  to  get  some  cheap  musical  instrument  with  which  to 
amuse  himself  occasionally;  and  after  several  had  been  suggested  and 
objected  to  on  various  grounds,  the  accordion,  then  a  comparatively 
new  instrument,  was  mentioned.  '  What,'  said  Percival, '  that  affair  like 
a  bellows  ;  can  any  music  be  got  out  of  that? '  On  being  assured  that 
there  could,  the  thing  seemed  to  strike  him  favorably,  and  he  pro 
cured  one  that  same  day.  On  the  following  day,  toward  night,  his  in 
formant  was  passing  the  place  where  Percival  had  his  rooms,  and 
heard  music  of  an  unusual  character.  On  inquiry,  he  learned  that  it 


JKJ        REMINISCENCES    OF    MR.    NOTES.          479 

German  airs,  producing  the  most  delicate  and  inaudible 
notes  possible.  The  ear  had  to  be  exceedingly  attentive, 
even  when  alone,  to  detect  them.  He  also  learned  to  use 
my  flute  and  guitar,  producing  as  before  more  delicate 
and  perfect  notes  than  were  ever  known  to  the  instru 
ments.  He  would  also  sing,  though  this  too  was  almost 
inaudible.  To  enable  me  better  to  enjoy  it,  he  would 
translate  the  German.  This  almost  infatuation  lasted 
some  months. 

He  used  to  relate  his  hard  experiences  in  life,  but  I 
cannot  now  recall  them  so  as  to  relate  the  items  with  any 
accuracy.     He  used  rarely  to  complain   of  his  health. 
His  frame  was  delicate,  owing  in  part  to  his  scanty  mode 
of  subsistence.     His  dislike  to  meet  ladies  was  Disukes  to 
very  great ;    he  seemed  to  have  no  relish  for  meet  ladies> 
their  society,  and  in  his  conversations  he  expressed  a  loss 
of  confidence. 

At  one  time  he  had  in  preparation  a  new  edition  of  his 
poems ;  new  ones  were  written  and  old  ones  revised,  but 
the  work  was  never  brought  out.* 

Had  he  been  better  understood,  much  more  profit  to  the 
world  would  have  resulted.  He  was  kind,  con-  Causes  of 

hia  difficul- 

fiding,  and  easily  persuaded,  if  properly  handled,  ties. 

To  cross  him  by  word  or  deed  seemed   to  destroy  his 

ambition  or  zeal  for  any  professional  or  literary  labor. 

•was  Percival  and  the  accordion.  He  had  spent  the  whole  night  in  the 
effort,  and  had  mastered  the  instrument.  '  Never,'  said  the  person 
who  relates  the  fact,  'have  I  before  or  since  heard  such  music  from  an 
accordion.'  "  — Putnam's  Monthly,  December,  1856. 

*  In  1851  he  had  an  application  from  an  English  publisher  to  print 
a  complete  edition  in  England;  but  for  some  reason  nothing  came  of  it, 
though  there  were  frequent  inquiries  made  both  here  and  abroad,  in 
this  and  succeeding  years,  for  his  poetry;  and  at  times  people  even 
made  applications  to  the  poet  himself  to  know  how  his  volumes  might 
be  obtained. 


480  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [ CHAP.  XX. 

When  aiding  Dr.  Webster,  the  engagement  was  broken 
by  differences  of  opinion,  in  consequence,  as  I  then  be 
lieved,  of  Percival's  greater  knowledge. 

I  knew  him  very  well  indeed,  and  shared  his  confidence 
to  a  very  considerable  extent ;  but  I  find  it  difficult,  with 
the  lapse  of  time,  to  put  it  on  record. 
Believe  me,  my  dear  sir, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

BENJAMIN  NOYES. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

1853-1856. 

GEOLOGICAL  LABORS  AT  THE  WEST.  —  LETTERS  TO  MR.  HERRICK. — 
His  HOUSE.  —  THE  WISCONSIN  SURVEY.  —  RELUCTANCE  TO  LEAVE 
NEW  HAVEN.  —  LETTERS  FROM  HIS  WESTERN  FRIENDS.  —  His 
LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH.  —  TRIBUTES  TO  HIS  MEMORY. 


ERCIVAL'S  attention  was  now  turned  to  the 
West.  His  numerous  geological  examinations, 
since  his  general  survey  of  Connecticut,  had 
called  attention  to  him  as  a  director  and  guide 
in  mining  interests ;  and  his  own  love  of  geology,  which 
began  as  early  as  1815  and  never  abated,  led  him  readily 
to  accept  of  proposals  for  employment  in  these  labors. 
He  was  frequently  referred  to  as  an  authority  in  all  the 
mines  and  ledges  of  his  native  State,  and  often  made 
special  investigations  in  the  interest  of  private  parties.  In 
April,  1853,  he  was  engaged  by  the  Honorable  Geological 
F.  C.  Phelps,  President  of  the  American  Min-  west. 
ing  Company,  to  demonstrate  the  truth  of  certain  theories 
concerning  the  lead  mines  in  Illinois  and  Wisconsin.  He 
succeeded  in  establishing  the  very  important  fact  that  the 
mineral  extended  several  hundred  feet  below  the  surface  of 
the  earth ;  and  it  was  thought  that  his  investigations  had 
added  at  least  a  million  dollars  to  the  value  of  that  region. 
He  also  advised  the  use  of  machinery  in  the  drainage  of  the 
mineral  lands.  The  following  letters  (extracts)  Letters  to 
addressed  to  the  late  Edward  C.  Herrick,  in  ^  Herrick- 
21  BE 


482  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XXI. 

whom  he  placed  every  confidence,  give  some  glimpses  of 
his  life  at  the  West :  — 


TO  EDWARD   C.  HERRICK. 

.  HAZEL  GREEN,  WISCONSIN,  August  1, 1853. 
DEAR  SIR, — 

.  ...  I  do  think  I  am  in  the  way  of  determining  the 
system  of  arrangement  in  the  mines,  and  I  have  had  to 
do  it  with  very  little  possible  aid  from  former  publications. 
I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  the  arrangement  of 
the  ores  is  here  as  regular  as  in  any  mine  I  have  ever 
examined.  I  have  found  something  new  and  peculiar  in 
every  mine  I  have  entered ;  and  yet  all  conform  to  one 
general  law,  —  unity  with  great  variety.  I  should  be 
pleased  to  write  you  a  longer  letter,  —  on  the  country,  its 
scenery,  resources,  people,  their  character,  peculiarities, 
etc.,  but  I  have  now  little  time.  When  I  receive  your 
answer,  I  will  endeavor  to  write  at  greater  length.  I 
The  mining  will  ju$t  give  you  a  touch  of  the  mining  lan 
guage  :  "  I  was  staked  on  a  prospect,  and  after 
prospecting  several  days  I  struck  a  lead  and  raised  a  lot 
of  bully  mineral,  but  it  was  only  a  bunch  in  a  chimney, 
without  any  opening;  so  I  petered  out,  and  a  sucker 
jumped  me."  This  is  truly  a  rich  and  beautiful  country. 
Besides  its  vast  mineral  resources,  it  is  rich  in  surface  and 
subsoil,  the  last  peculiar  to  the  mining  region,  and  beauti 
ful  exceedingly,  whether  broken  woodland  or  rolling 

prairie 

Yours  very  truly, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 


LETTERS    TO    MR.    HERRICK.  483 


TO  EDWAED   C.   HERRICK. 

HAZEL  GREEN,  WISCONSIN,  October  21,  1853. 
DEAR  Sm, — 

Yours  of  the  12th  was  received  this  morning,  and  I  now 
take  the  first  opportunity  of  reply.  I  was  very  success 
fully  and  actively  engaged  in  my  explorations,  with  health 
apparently  improving  as  the  weather  grew  cooler,  till 
Wednesday,  September  28th,  when  I  was  suddenly 
attacked  with  a  chill,  on  issuing  from  a  mine  on  A  severe 
a  cold  raw  day ;  which  attack  ended  in  a  severe  lllness- 
bilious  remittent,  which  my  physician  (Dr.  Jenckes  of 
this  place)  has  informed  me  placed  me  for  some  days  in 
a  state  of  great  danger.  I  was  engaged,  at  the  attack, 
about  eight  or  ten  miles  east  of  here,  in  the  vicinity  of 
Fever  River,  in  the  neighborhood  of  which  I  had  been 
employed  nearly  four  weeks,  where  the  people  have  suf 
fered  much  this  season  from  intermittents.  I  had  been 
very  laboriously,  and,  as  I  thought,  successfully  employed ; 
and,  at  my  attack,  had  increased  the  number  of  my  entries 
into  mines  to  one  hundred  and  twenty.  On  Monday  I 
had  been  out  all  day  in  mines  and  on  surface  explorations, 
without  refreshment,  and  rode  home  several  miles,  thinly 
clad,  in  the  evening,  against  a  chilly  south  wind.  Tues 
day  I  felt  a  general  soreness,  but  was  actively  employed 
near  Fever  River  till  late  in  the  evening.  The  next 
morning  I  went  out  to  my  day's  work,  and  about  ten,  A.  M., 
was  attacked  as  I  have  stated  above.  I  remained  till 
Saturday,  October  1st,  without  medical  attendance,  from 
my  remote  situation,  although  in  a  very  kind  and  attentive 
family,  and  unfortunately  attempted  to  manage  my  own 
case,  which  I  treated  with  an  emetic  and  cathartic  till  I 


484  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XXI. 

had  reduced  myself  too  far.  Dr.  Jenckes  then  attended 
me ;  and  on  Tuesday,  October  4th,  I  was  removed  to  his 
house  here,  which  for  a  few  days  increased  my  danger, 
but  I  have  fortunately  recovered,  although  I  have  con 
valesced  but  slowly.  I  however  think  I  shall  commence 
work  again  next  week,  although  with  due  attention  to 
avoid  too  much  fatigue  and  exposure.  The  weather 
during  my  illness  has  been  remarkably  fine,  and  is  so  still, 
—  a  rich  and  pleasant  Indian  summer.  I  regret  to  have 
lost  so  much  fair  weather,  particularly  as  I  was  going 
ahead  so  well,  but  must  submit  to  the  inevitable.  I  hope 
still  to  be  able  to  accomplish  this  season  the  most  impor 
tant  objects  I  have  in  view. 

With  regard  to  the  principal  subject  of  your  letter,  the 
First  step      purchase  of  the  lot  held  by  Mr.  Stone,  I  am 

toward  his 

house.  hardly  prepared  to  state  my  opinion  decisively. 

If  the  plan  of  building  proposed  by  Mr.  Stone  could  be 
carried  through,  I  should  wish  to  appropriate  as  much  of 
my  means  as  possible  to  aid  in  it.  I  left  in  the  Savings' 
Bank,  in  your  care,  $  1 60.  You  have  received  on  my 
account,  since  I  have  come  here,  $266  and  $141.15,=: 
$407.15,  — in  all,  in  your  care,  $567.15.  I  have  with 
me  here  about  $  70.  Mr.  Phelps  has  written  that  he 
expected  to  employ  me  a  long  time,  from  his  satisfaction 
with  my  labors.  The  Honorable  Truman  Smith  offered 
me  employment  just  after  I  engaged  with  the  American 
Company ;  and  on  my  stating  to  him  my  engagement, 
wrote  me  to  inform  him  when  I  had  completed  it,  that  he 
might  furnish  me  permanent  employment.  I  will  state  to 
An  effort  you,  in  confidence,  that  a  proposition  has  been 
suIte^SeoS  made  to  me  through  my  friends,  from  some  of 
glst-  the  leading  men  in  this  State  (Wisconsin),  to 

engage  in  a  survey  of  the  State.     Such  are  my  present 


LETTERS    TO    MR.    HERRICK.  485 

means  and  apparent  prospects.  I  wish  to  secure  a  place 
where  my  property  may  be  secure  and  out  of  the  way  of 

others If  there  is  no  prospect  of  completing  the 

building  so  as  to  furnish  a  refuge  for  my  property,  it 
might  not  be  proper  to  employ  ray  means  in  purchasing 
the  lot;  but  if  my  friends  would  be  induced,  by  my 
making  the  purchase,  to  carry  the  project  through,  I 
would  for  myself  consent.  Under  the  circumstances, 
I  will  leave  the  subject  to  your  judgment  and  prudence, 
and  give  you  liberty,  if  you  think  it  best,  to  employ  my 
funds  in  your  charge  in  that  way,  trusting  that  you  will 

take  all  the  necessary  securities 

I  remain  very  sincerely  yours, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

Under  date  "  Platteville,  November  13,  1853,"  he 
writes  that  he  had  recovered  his  health  and  resumed  his 
employment,  — journeying  with  a  man  connected  with 
the  mines,  —  and  then  adds  :  — 

We  started  so  late  yesterday  that  we  rode  some  part  of  the 
way,  and  the  air  was  so  smoky  from  prairie  fires  that  I 
could  see  but  a  short  distance.  We,  however,  crossed 
some  extensive,  open,  rolling  prairies,  of  rich  black  soil,  a 
considerable  part  ebony  black  from  recent  fires,  the  rest 
brown,  and  stripped  of  the  splendid  robe  of  golden  and 
purple  flowers  which  covered  them  through  the  summer 
and  early  autumn.  As  we  approached  this  place  we  had 
a  brilliant  view  of  two  extensive  fires,  one  ad- 

Prairie  fires. 

vancing  on  the  prairie  in  a  line  of  one  to  two 
miles,  —  slowly  before  a  fresh  west  wind,  in  a  front  of 
detached   dancing   flames,  with  open  intervals,  like  the 
squadrons  of  an  army,  leaving  a  black  waste  behind  them  ; 
the  other  climbing  the  southwest  slope  of  the  northwest 


486  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.     [CHAP.  XXI. 

Platte  Mound,  close  by  here,  in  the  same  detached  man 
ner  from  base  to  summit ;  both  after  dark  rising  with  in 
creased  splendor,  and  throwing  on  the  hazy  sky  a  mimic 
aurora  with  the  same  black  arch  below  that  we  see  in  the 
real  aurora.  It  was  a  sight  "  for  sair  e'en,"  as  the  Scotch 
say.  I  have  lately  seen  at  Hazel  Green  remarkable 
evening  exhibitions  of  prairie  fires.  In  one  instance  the 
whole  northern  horizon  was  illuminated  with  distant  fires, 
giving  the  closest  resemblance  of  a  northern  light  of  mod 
erate  elevation.  Another  night  the  east  or  southeast  hori 
zon  was  bounded  by  a  line  of  clearly  visible  fires,  in  sim 
ilar  detached  masses  to  those  of  last  evening,  swaying 
like  waves  over  the  long  prairie  ridges  which  the  next 
running  wave  made  all  blackened.  At  the  same  time  a 
faint  reflection  in  the  southwest  showed  an  extensive  fire 
in  Iowa,  beyond  the  highlands  adjoining  the  west  bank  of 
the  Mississippi,  where  about  that  time  much  damage  was 
caused  by  fires  to  farms,  as  I  was  informed  by  one  who 
had  since  left  there.  Great  efforts  are  made  on  such  oc 
casions  to  keep  the  fires  from  the  farms  and  groves,  and 
ordinarily,  from  what  I  saw  yesterday,  I  should  think 
there  was  little  risk  from  them,  their  progress  is  so  slow. 
The  temptation  offered  by  the  greatly  improved  pastures 
of  the  next  season  will  long  keep  up  these  fires.  I  have 
thought  these  statements  might  interest  you,  but  must 
now  conclude  with  the  assurance  of  my  best  regards  to 
you  and  my  friends.  From  illness  and  a  few  accidents  in 
mines  I  have  perhaps  escaped  narrowly,  but  I  trust  I 
shall  again  see  Connecticut. 

Yours  truly, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 


LETTERS    TO    MR.    HERRICK.  487 

TO  EDWARD  C.  HEERICK. 

GALENA,  ILLINOIS,  December  9, 1863. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

Since  I  last  wrote  you  from  Platteville,  November  13, 
I  have  been  constantly  employed  in  travelling,  exploring, 
and  writing.  I  have  heard  nothing  from  you  since  my 
two  last  letters  to  you.  I  am  now  uncertain  Uncertain 
what  course  I  shall  take  this  winter,  whether  to  for  the  winter, 
return  East,  or  to  go  South  to  Missouri  and  Arkansas  and 
return  in  the  spring.  Next  week  the  question  will  doubt 
less  be  decided  ;  when,  if  it  is  concluded  to  go  South,  I 
will  again  write  you  and  send  a  draft  for  the  amount 
then  due  me.  If  I  return  to  you,  I  shall  be  my  own 
messenger.  I  write  this  merely  to  let  you  know  where  I 
am,  and  to  inform  you  that  I  am  in  good  health  again. 
Yours  very  truly, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL. 

In  a  letter  to  Mr.  Herrick,  bearing  date  "  Hazel  Green, 
Wisconsin,  December  23,  1853,"  he  speaks  of  an  excur 
sion,  now  that  the  cold  weather  prevented  his  mineral 
explorations :  — 

To  Missouri,  Arkansas,  and  the  Cherokee  country,  to  re 
turn  to  New  York  by  Tennessee  and  North  Caro-  A  proposed 
lina,  and  perhaps  northwest  Georgia  and  north-  excur 
east  Alabama.  I  shall  have  an  opportunity  to  see  a  great 
extent  of  country,  and  to  make  many  important  observa 
tions I  have  thought  the  objects  in  view  sufficient  to 

warrant  the  step  I  have  taken,  and  hope  it  will  meet  your 

approval I  wish  you  to  renew  the  insurance  on  my 

books  from  my  funds,  and  to  see  that  they,  as  well  as  my 


488  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XXI. 

other  property,  do  not  suffer  injury.  I  shall  be  so  much 
on  the  move,  that  I  cannot  designate  any  place  at  which 
you  may  direct  to  me.  I  expect  to  be  on  my  journey 
round  to  New  York  at  least  three  months,  perhaps  four. 
I  shall  as  soon  as  possible,  on  my  return,  meet  you  at  New 
Haven,  and  hope  to  find  things  safe.  I  have  still  expec 
tation  of  an  offer  here  for  further  employment,  as  I  have 
hinted  to  you. 

I  am  very  desirous  to  have  an  opportunity  of  thorough- 
His  interest  ly  exploring  this  lead  region,  and  I  think,  from 
region.  what  I  have  already  done,  that  I  might  lay 
down  its  arrangement  with  a  good  degree  of  precision, 
and  to  the  benefit  of  the  public.  I  think  I  have  se 
cured  here  some  influential  friends,  and  gained  a  good 
opinion  among  the  miners.  I  have  found  these  through 
out  civil  and  attentive,  and  retain  of  them  a  grateful  re 
membrance.  My  visit  to  Missouri,  to  which  I  shall  pro 
ceed  across  Iowa,  by  Iowa  City  and  Jefferson  City,  will 
enable  me  to  connect  this  lead  region  with  that  of  Mis 
souri,  and  perhaps  to  combine  the  lead  in  one  consistent 
•whole.  If  I  should  not  return,  which  is  possible,  I  wish 
you  to  stand  in  my  place,  and  to  see  that  all  that  concerns 
me  is  settled  as  fairly  as  possible.  I  cannot  conclude 
without  expressing  my  strong  sense  of  the  kind  attentions 
Dr.  Jenckes  I  have  received  from  Dr.  Jenckes  and  his  lady 

a  brother  J 

to  him.          (daughter  of  the  late  Rev.  Hugh  Smith,  D.  D., 
of  New  York),  who,  during  my  illness  and  convalescence 
and  since,  have  treated  me  as  a  brother. 
Yours  very  truly, 

JAMES  G.  PERCIVAL: 


HIS    HOUSE.  489 

His  friends,  acting  in  accordance  with  his  authority,  had 
purchased  a  lot  on  Park  Place,  south  of  George  Street,  in 
New  Haven,  and  had  made  some  preparations  pr0gress  of 
for  building  before  he  returned  home.  It  seemed  hls  house- 
desirable,  as  old  age  came  upon  him,  that  he  should  have 
a  suitable  home,  where,  amid  his  books,  he  might  spend  his 
time  in  quiet,  calm  enjoyment ;  and  his  fair  prospects  now 
made  such  a  step  safe.  On  his  return,  he  drafted  the 
plan  for  his  house,  and  again  took  up  his  residence  at  the 
Hospital.  His  friends  made  the  contracts  and  saw  that 
they  were  executed.  The  design  was  a  house 
of  one  story,  with  high  walls,  the  front  part  of 
which  was  to  be  used  for  a  library  and  study,  and  the 
rear  for  a  sleeping  apartment  and  bachelor's  kitchen. 
The  entrance  was  also  in  the  rear.  The  front  was  broken 
by  three  narrow  and  high  windows,  to  which  heavy  iron 
blinds  were  attached.  The  house  was  built  of  stone  and 
painted  a  dark  brown.  It  was  made  fire-proof,  and,  as  I 
remember  it,  certainly  resembled  a  monastic  cell  more 
than  the  residence  of  a  human  being.  The  poet  saw  its 
walls  rising  under  his  own  eyes,  during  his  stay  at  the 
East,  but  he  never  occupied  it.  It  was  completed  in  No 
vember,  1854,  and  his  library  was  packed  away  in  boxes 
by  his  own  hands  preparatory  to  a  removal,  when  he  was 
again  called  back  to  his  new-found  friends  at  the  West. 
As  showing  how  one  poet  invests  the  home  of  another 
with  romantic  beauty,  the  following  passage  from  the  pen 
of  N.  P.  Willis,  though  he  is  mistaken  in  thinking  that 
Percival  ever  lived  there,  is  a  charming  tribute  of  genius 
to  genius :  — 

"  New  Haven  is  avast  cathedral,  with  aisles  for  streets; 
.  and  Percival,  the  poet,  I  fancy  has  felt  A  tribute 

J  .  from  N.  P. 

this  in  designing  the  cottage  in  which  he  lives,  wiuis. 

21* 


490  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP.  XXI. 

It  looks  like  a  sarcophagus  in  a  cathedral  aisle.  Three 
blind  windows  on  the  front  of  a  square  structure  are  the 
only  signs  of  anything  ever  going  in  or  coming  out  of  it, 
the  door  being  in  the  rear,  I  believe,  and  no  sign  of  life 
visible  in  the  streets.  I  felt  my  heart  kneel  in  passing  it. 
*He  (Percival)  is,  I  am  sure,  the  purest  and  most  mere 
man  of  genius  possible  to  our  race;  profound  science 
and  lofty  poetry  straining  his  soul  to  the  two  extremes  of 
a  seraph's  span,  with  scarcely  mortality  enough  to  keep 
him  down  to  the  ground.  When  his  struggling  spirit 
shakes  off  this  little  hindrance  to  his  wings,  —  the  visible 
shape  by  which  we  know  him,  —  the  ashes  might  properly 
be  preserved  in  the  sarcophagus  he  here  built  and  pre- 
tenanted."  It  is  too  bad  to  be  compelled  to  add  that 
what  would  have  been  the  shrine  of  genius  for  coming 
time  has  given  place  to  an  elegant  dwelling  with  all  the 
modern  innovations  and  improvements. 

The  people  of  Wisconsin  were  not  idle  when  they  saw 
the  great  practical  results  from  the  survey  of  the  lead 
region  for  the  American  Mining  Company.  In  the  year 
steps  to  the  1853,  a  law  was  paseed  providing  for  a  geologi- 
wisconsin.  cal  survey  of  the  State,  to  continue  for  four 
years,  at  an  annual  expense  of  twenty-five  hundred  dol 
lars.  Under  this  law,  Mr.  Edward  Daniels  was  ap 
pointed  State  Geologist,  early  in  1853,  and  entered  upon 
the  duties  of  his  office.  He  was  a  young  man  and  quite 
enthusiastic  in  his  profession  ;  but  many  of  those  inter 
ested  in  mining  felt  anxious  that  the  survey  should  be 
conducted  by  Percival,  believing  that  if  made  by  one  so 
competent  and  of  such  practical  experience  it  would  be 
of  very  great  benefit  to  the  State.  In  this  opinion  Mr. 
Daniels  also  agreed,  and  a  request  was  then  made  to 
Governor  Barstow  to  give  the  appointment  to  Percival. 


THE    WISCONSIN    SURVEY.  491 

This  was  the  signal  for  a  good  deal  of  party  invective 
upon  the  Governor,  but  no  newspaper  dared  to  question 
the  propriety  of  the  appointment  in  regard  to  Percival's 
ability.  When  it  was  communicated  to  him  by  The  appoint- 

J   ment  in  his 

(jrovernor  Barstow,  he  was  much  inclined  not  hands. 
to  accept  it.  He  had  learned  to  value  anew  his  books 
and  the  repose  among  his  friends,  and  it  was  hard  to  sum 
mon  the  courage  to  go  away  at  his  age  and  leave  them 
for  an  uncertain  length  of  time.  It  was  plainly  evident, 
to  those  who  loved  him  best,  that  he  must  engage  in  such 
an  employment  or  be  unwillingly  dependent  upon  the 
kindness  of  others.  They  urged  him  hard  to  go,  so  much 
so,  that  he  even  suspected  their  motives,  and  His  unwiii- 

ingness  to 

with  one  most  intimate  friend  he  was  actually  accept  it. 
offended  because  of  his  seeming  unkindness  in  urging 
him  to  leave  his  home.  He  loved  his  books,  and  the  de 
lightful  leisure  of  the  scholar  never  was  more  fascinat 
ing.  He  lingered  and  lingered,  and  finally  was  almost 
forced  away.  Yet  he  went  among  those  who  learned  to 
love  him  tenderly,  and  who,  in  the  end,  bestowed  upon 
him  and  his  memory  every  mark  of  kindness  and  re 
spect.  In  the  able  and  pathetic  eulogy  which  Mr.  E.  A. 
Calkins  delivered  before  the  State  Historical  Society  of 
Wisconsin,  on  the  announcement  of  Percival's  death,  he 
gave  a  graphic  sketch  of  his  appearance  when  he  first 
came  among  them.  Even  the  picture  of  his  poverty  is 
touched  with  pathos  :  — 

"The  most  of  us  that  knew  Dr.  Percival  did  not  know 
him  till  he  came  to  the  West.  He  was  then  His  personai 
far  past  his  prime.  He  walked  with  his  head  aPPearance- 
bent,  his  eye  cast  downward,  and  with  slow  and  uncertain 
step.  Those  of  our  citizens  who  often  saw  him  will  not 
soon  forget  his  aspect  of  poverty,  almost  of  squalor,  — 


492  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.         [CHAP.  XXL 

his  tattered  gray  coat,  his  patched  pants  (the  repairs 
the  work  of  his  own  hands),  and  his  weather-beaten 
glazed  cap,  with  ear-pieces  of  sheep-skin,  the  woolly  side 
in.  The  frontier  inhabitants  of  the  State  knew  him  fa 
miliarly  as  Old  Stonebreaker." 

When  once  again  among  the  Western  people,  every 
attention  was  shown  him ;  and  though  at  times  there  were 
rumors  that  his  appointment  might  be  revoked,  which  dis 
turbed  him,  they  arose  not  from  any  distrust  or  want  of 
confidence  in  the  geologist,  but  from  attempts  to  raise 
partisan  issues  against  the  Governor.  The  history  of 
his  labors  upon  the  survey  is  best  given  in  the  Introduc 
tions  which  he  himself  prepared  to  his  Annual  Reports. 
The  Report  for  1855  contained  the  following  introductory 
statement,  addressed  to  Governor  Barstow,  who  stood  by 
him  as  a  true  friend  during  the  entire  period  of  the 
survey :  — 

To  His  EXCELLENCY  WILLIAM  A.  BARSTOW, 

Governor  of  the  State  of  Wisconsin, 

In  presenting  this  Report  on  the  geology  of  Wisconsin, 
His  own  it  is  proper  that  I  should  state  the  circumstances 
fabdSupon8  under  which  the  materials  for  it  have  been  col- 
the  survey.  ]ected.  Qn  receiving  my  commission  as  State 
Geologist  (August  12,  1854),  I  proceeded,  agreeably  to 
your  instructions,  to  examine  the  mineral  district  included 
in  the  southwestern  counties  of  the  State.  It  was  my 
intention,  in  this  examination,  to  make  a  preliminary  re- 
connoissance  of  the  entire  district,  so  as  to  enable  me  to 
present,  in  my  first  Report,  a  general  view  of  the  arrange 
ment,  both  as  exhibited  on  the  surface  and  in  the  interior. 
In  previous  examinations  of  the  same  kind,  I  had  found 


.ffibJ  THE    WISCONSIN    SURVEY.  493 

the  great  advantage  of  such  general  views,  in  preparing 
for  a  more  just  appreciation  of  particular  facts  and  of 
their  mutual  relations.  One  of  the  most  important  ob 
jects  of  a  geological  survey,  indeed  the  most  important, 
is  to  determine  the  system  of  arrangement,  and  the  prin 
ciples  connected  therewith,  which  may  serve  as  a  guide 
through  what  would  be  otherwise  an  inextricable  laby 
rinth.  This  cannot  be  done  satisfactorily  without  a 
minute  and  thorough  investigation  of  particulars;  but  this 
should  be  made  throughout  with  a  view  to  the  entire  ar 
rangement,  and  for  this  purpose  a  preliminary  reconnois- 
sance  is  required.  Although  I  lost  no  time  in  pursuing 
this  object,  yet  I  found  it  impossible  to  visit  the  entire 
district  this  season,  and  November  23d  I  returned  to 
Madison,  and  after  a  brief  examination  of  the  country 
between  that  place  and  Janesville,  in  reference  to  the 
strata,  I  applied  myself  to  the  preparation  of  my  Re 
port. 

I  have  visited,  during  this  season,  all  the  considerable 
diggings  from  the  south  line  of  the  State  to  a  line  drawn 
from  east  to  west,  north  of  Cassville,  Beetown,  Potosi, 
Platteville,  Mineral  Point,  Yellow  Stone,  arid  P^xeter, 
and  from  the  Mississippi  to  the  east  part  of  Green  County. 
Some  of  the  less  important  diggings,  within  these  limits, 
may  have  escaped  my  notice,  but  I  have  endeavored  to 
make  such  an  examination  of  those  I  have  visited  as  my 
limited  time  would  allow.  I  have  also  employed,  in  pre 
paring  this  Report,  such  facts  as  I  had  collected  the  former 
year,  in  the  employment  of  the  American  Mining  Company 
(New  York),  in  exploring  different  localities  in  the  same 
district,  and  particularly  in  examining  the  different  strata, 
in  reference  to  the  probable  descent  of  the  mineral 
through  them.  On  this  point,  of  so  much  importance  to 


494  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XXI. 

the  mining  interest,  I  had  then  ascertained  a  series  of 
facts,  which  seemed  to  prove  that  all  the  limestones,  from 
the  surface  of  the  upper  magnesian  to  a  considerable 
depth,  at  least,  in  the  lower  magnesian,  were  good  lead- 
bearing  rocks.  My  researches,  this  year,  have  enabled 
me  to  add  many  convincing  proofs  to  what  I  had  before 
ascertained,  the  whole  showing  a  regular  descent  of  the 
mineral  through  all  the  rocks,  within  the  limits  above 
indicated,  except  the  upper  sandstone.  I  have  had  no 
opportunity,  this  season,  of  extending  my  researches  in 
the  lower  magnesian,  its  out-crop  occurring  chiefly  in  the 
northern  part  of  the  district,  which  I  have  not  yet  visited. 
I  had,  the  former  year,  also  applied  myself  to  the  inves 
tigation  of  other  points  of  much  economical  interest,  and 
have  made  them,  this  season,  leading  objects  in  my  sur 
vey.  Such  are  the  surface  arrangement  of  the  ranges, 
by  which  they  are  combined  into  different  groups,  which 
are  themselves  also  arranged  in  connected  series,  show 
ing  a  regular  system  of  arrangement  apparently  pervad 
ing  the  whole  district,  so  far  as  I  have  yet  examined  it ; 
the  vein  character  of  the  different  deposits  of  mineral, 
recognizable  in  all  their  varied  modifications;  and  the 
different  character  of  the  openings  in  the  different  lime 
stone  strata,  showing  that  while  all  of  these  are  lead- 
bearing,  yet  that  each  presents  some  peculiarities  in  the 
arrangement  and  character  of  its  mineral  deposits.  The 
facts  which  I  have  thus  far  collected  on  these  points 
appear  not  a  little  encouraging,  as  exhibiting  regularity 
and  order  in  arrangement,  and  striking  analogies  to  the 
best  mines  in  corresponding  situations  in  Europe.  The 
opportunities  for  examining  the  interior  of  mines  are  not 
now  as  frequent  as  I  could  have  wished,  but  I  have  im 
proved  every  opportunity  which  has  presented,  and  have 


THE    WISCONSIN    SURVEY.  495 

been  able,  during  the  two  seasons,  to  examine  the  inte 
rior  of  more  than  two  hundred  different  mines,  of  varied 
extent  from  the  smallest  to  the  greatest. 

From  the  short  time  that  I  have  been  employed  by  the 
State,  it  cannot  be  expected  that  I  should  prepare  a  com 
plete  Report.  In  this,  I  have  had  in  view  the  immediate 
interests  of  the  mineral  district,  and  I  have  endeavored 
to  give  it  a  practical  bearing.  My  object  has  been  to 
give  general  views  of  more  immediate  importance,  and 
rather  to  point  out  the  method  I  design  to  pursue  than  to 
give  the  results  of  a  survey.  Local  details,  and  such  as 
have  no  direct  bearing  on  my  present  object,  are  reserved 
to  another  occasion. 

I  have  confined  myself,  in  preparing  this  Report,  chiefly 
to  my  own  observations,  and  have  proceeded  no  His  views 

based  on  ac- 

further  than  the  facts,  which  I  have  myself  tuai  facts. 
collected,  would  seem  to  warrant.  Although  I  have  not 
yet  been  able  to  explore  the  whole  mineral  district,  and 
may  therefore  have  failed  to  ascertain  some  facts  which 
may  have  an  important  bearing  in  determining  the  entire 
arrangement,  yet  I  have  felt  warranted,  from  what  I  have 
already  ascertained,  in  stating  with  some  confidence  the 
conclusions  to  which  I  have  already  alluded. 

The  mineral  district  is  of  such  relative  extent,  its  re 
sources,  mineral  and  agricultural,  are  so  great,  that  what 
ever  interests  that  must  largely  interest  the  whole  State. 
The  act,  making  the  appropriation  for  this  survey,  requires 
that  that  district  should  be  first  surveyed  ;  but  occasional 
opportunities  may,  in  the  mean  while,  be  taken  to  examine 
such  other  points  as  may  be  of  immediate  importance. 
The  survey  of  the  whole  State  must  be  the  work  of  time ; 
to  be  valuable,  it  should  be  made  deliberately,  and  as  far 
as  possible  in  a  connected  order.  As  long  as  I  am  in- 


496  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XXI. 

trusted  with  this  object,  I  shall  endeavor  to  give  it  such  a 
direction,  and  particularly  to  make  it  contribute  to  de 
velop  the  great  resources  of  the  State. 
Very  respectfully, 

JAMES   G.   PERCIVAL, 

State  Geologist. 

In  the  early  spring  of  1855  he  made  a  brief  visit  to 
A  brief  visit  New  Haven  to  see  the  new  home  which  was 

to  New 

Haven.  awaiting  his  return,  and  to  arrange  his  private 
affairs.  The  rumors  already  alluded  to  of  party  dissatis 
faction,  the  seeming  uncertainty  whether  his  appointment 
would  be  continued  by  the  next  Legislature,  though  in  the 
minds  of  the  greater  part  of  the  people  no  such  rumors  or 
uncertainty  existed,  had  their  weight  upon  his  sensitive 
mind  ;  and  it  cost  him  a  harder  struggle  to  return  than 
when  he  went  out  on  first  receiving  his  appointment. 
With  the  increase  of  age,  and  he  was  now  nearly  sixty, 
came  an  increased  attachment  to  home.  That  home, 
which  had  now  been  built  and  prepared  for  him,  was 
ready  to  be  occupied.  There  may  have  been  before  him 
the  dim,  slight  foreboding  that  he  might  not  live  .to  return. 
He  weeps  on  He  was  depressed  and  wept  like  a  child  to  think 

leaving  his 

new  home,  that  positive  engagements  must  call  him  away, 
and  that  the  coveted  retreat  and  solitude  could  not  now 
be  his  ;  yet  he  at  length  reluctantly  departed,  never  again 
to  travel  in  solitary  walk  the  familiar  streets  of  the  city 
which  he  loved. 

His  homesickness,  however,  did  not  prevent  him  from 
engaging,  when  again  in  Wisconsin,  in  the  labors  which 
he  loved,  and  to  which  so  large  a  part  of  his  life  was  de- 
Again  busy  voted.  -  He  resumed  them  with  all  his  former 

upon  the 

survey.         ardor,  and  continued  in  them  till  the  8th  of  De- 


.So.]  THE    WISCONSIN    SURVEY.  497 

cember,  1855,  when  he  sat  down  to  the  writing  of  his 
Annual  Report  to  be  presented  to  the  next  Legislature. 
This  he  was  unable  to  complete  before  sickness  overtook 
him,  and  he  was  compelled  to  lay  aside  the  pen,  the  ham 
mer,  and  all  the  implements  of  work  for  the  long  rest 
which  precedes  the  resurrection.  The  Introduction,  ad 
dressed  to  Governor  Bashford,  was  completed  ;  the  Report 
itself  was  unfinished,  though  he  made  every  effort,  even 
in  sickness,  to  complete  it.  It  should  be  said  of  both 
these  Reports  that  they  are  written  in  quite  a  Rg  ^ 
different  vein  from  his  Geological  Survey  of 
Connecticut ;  more  practical,  containing  far  less  of  simply 
descriptive  geology,  and  entering  with  considerable  mi 
nuteness  into  the  determination  of  the  numerous  questions 
which  arose  during  the  survey,  of  which  in  its  later  stages 
the  Introduction  presents  a  very  complete  synopsis.  One 
or  two  passages  have  a  personal  bearing. 

He  remarks :  — 

"The  winter  (1854-55)  had  been  employed  in  pre 
paring  and  attending  to  the  publication  of  my  Sketch  of  MB 

J    second  year's 

last  Report ;  and  after  a  short  visit  to  the  East,  labors. 
which  my  private  affairs  rendered  necessary,  I  recom 
menced  my  explorations  early  in  April.  I  first  visited 
the  iron-mines  at  Iron  Ridge,  Dodge  County,  and  at  Hart 
ford,  Washington  County,  and  at  Marston,  on  the  Little 
Baraboo,  Sauk  County,  examining  also  such  other  objects 
of  interest  as  occurred  on  my  route.  After  this  excur 
sion,  I  recommenced  (May  1st)  the  examination  of  the 
lead  districts,  left  unfinished  the  former  season,  and  com 
pleted  it  June  30th.  I  have  employed  the  remainder  of 
the  season,  till  December  8th,  in  a  reconnoissance  of  the 
State,  for  the  purpose  of  forming  a  general  idea  of  the 
geological  arrangement.  In  so  doing,  I  have  aimed  to 


498  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XXI. 

traverse  as  much  of  the  State  as  possible  ;  and  while  the 
determination  of  the  different  strata  and  formations  has 
been  my  leading  object,  I  have  improved  every  opportu 
nity  of  visiting  such  localities  as  were  of  particular  im 
portance.  I  have  visited,  in  this  and  my  other  pursuits, 
thirty-eight  of  the  fifty  counties  in  the  State,  all,  indeed, 
except  a  few  of  the  more  northern  and  less  settled  coun 
ties.  I  first  made  a  tour  (July,  August)  through  the 
northeastern  counties  as  far  as  Sheboygan,  Green  Bay, 
and  Stevens  Point.  I  then  proceeded  (September, 
October)  on  an  excursion  through  the  western  counties, 
north  of  the  Wisconsin,  as  far  as  the  Falls  of  St.  Croix, 
and  from  the  want  of  communication  on  the  Wisconsin 
side,  near  the  Mississippi,  returned  on  the  west  side  of 
that  river,  through  Minnesota,  from  the  St.  Croix  to  La 
Crosse.  During  November,  I  made  a  tour  through  the 
southeastern  counties,  and  thus  have  been  able  to  take  a 
general  view  of  the  largest  and,  at  present,  the  most  im 
portant  part  of  the  State. 

"  In  making  this  general  examination,  I  have  not  only 
had  in  view  objects  of  direct  geological  interest,  but  also 
the  agricultural  capabilities  of  the  surface,  and  have  been 
agreeably  surprised  to  find,  in  the  more  northern  districts, 
but  a  small  extent  not  capable  of  improvement." 

For  the  remainder  of  this  biography  I  am  indebted  to 
The  letters  of  the  excellent  letters  of  his  Western  friends, 
Mends.  Mr.  Edward  M.  Hunter,  Mr.  Lyman  C.  Draper, 
and  J.  L.  Jenckes,  M.  D.,  to  whom  the  poet  has  already 
expressed  himself  as  warmly  attached,  and  to  whom  he 
gave  every  testimony  of  love,  in  not  only  appointing  him 
his  executor,  but  also  in  making  him  the  sole  inheritor  of 
Mr.  Hunter's  ms  estate.  With  Mr.  Hunter  he  was  on  very 
letter.  familiar  terms,  and  he  has  happily  succeeded  in 


LETTERS    FROM    HIS    FRIENDS.  499 

giving  a  living  picture  of  Percival  as  he  went  in  and  out 
among  his  friends  at  the  West. 


TO  THE  EDITOR. 

MILWAUKEE,  WISCONSIN,  June  25, 1865. 
DEAR  SIR, — 

I  shall  never  forget  my  first  introduction  to  Dr.  Percival. 
His  appointment  had  been  determined  upon  First  intro. 
for  some  time  previous  by  Governor  Barstow  ;  du 
and  as  Professor  Daniels  had  to  be  removed  to  make  way 
for  him,  it  was  made  the  occasion  for  violent  partisan 
attacks  by  the  opposition  press,  which,  to  their  credit  be 
it  said,  they  were  all  subsequently  heartily  ashamed  of. 
Mr.  S.  M.  Booth,  who  was  then  the  editor  of  the  Free 
Democrat  at  Milwaukee,  and  the  active  and  able  leader 
of  the  at  that  time  inchoate  Republican  party  in  Wisconsin, 
had  been  one  of  the  friends  of  the  Doctor  who  strongly 
urged  his  appointment.  The  small  anteroom  which  all 
old  settlers  will  so  well  remember  opening  to  the  Execu 
tive  chamber,  happened  at  the  time  to  be  occupied  solely 
by  myself,  then  private  secretary.  I  opened  the  door  of  the 
sanctum  to  Mr.  Booth,  and  scarcely  gave  a  glance  at  the 
modest-looking,  plainly  dressed,  and  humble  figure  fol 
lowing  his  rapid  step.  Feeling  at  liberty  to  do  so,  I  fol 
lowed  carelessly,  and  heard  him  say,  "  Governor  Barstow, 
allow  me  to  introduce  to  you  Dr.  Percival,  your  State 
Geologist,"  with  a  feeling  in  which  astonishment  first  pre 
dominated.  This  could  not  be  the  James  G.  Percival 
whose  poems  I  had  read  with  so  much  delight,  and  who 
ranked  among  the  most  able  men  of  the  time  ?  But  so  it 
was  ;  within  that  simple  and  unpretending  figure  was  con- 


500  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XXI. 

tained  more  intellectual  wealth  and  solid  knowledge  than 
the  world  could  then  boast  of  possessing  in  any  other  one 
of  the  great  men  whom  it  was  the  privilege  of  our  time 
to  claim.  It  became  my  happiness  to  meet  the  Doctor 
often  afterwards  ;  and  our  relations  were  such  that  I  be 
came  more  familiar  with  him  than  almost  any  other  per 
son  connected  at  that  time  with  the  capitol.  It  is  need 
less  to  say  that  the  interest  and  profound  regard  I  felt  for 
him  increased  from  day  to  day,  as  my  knowledge  of  his 
wonderful  resources  of  learning  and  native  kindliness  of 
heart  developed  themselves  to  me. 

As  an  instance  of  the  astonishing  power  of  his  mem- 
Tnstancesof  ory,  I  will  cite  one  circumstance.     You  have 

his  power  of 

memory.  his  Geological  Report  for  the  year  1855.  He 
wrote  this,  to  my  knowledge,  without  ever  having  made 
a  single  memorandum  to  assist  his  recollection  of  the 
many  and  complicated  details  which  are  embodied  in  the 
Report.  It  is  safe  to  assert  that,  as  a  mere  effort  of  mem 
ory,  it  has  seldom  been  surpassed,  and  furnishes  us  a 
clew  by  which  we  can  understand  how  he  acquired  those 
wonderful  stores  of  learning  he  had  treasured  up.  By 
the  order  of  Governor  Barstow  a  small  room  had  been 
partitioned  off  for  his  use,  over  a  building  erected  for  the 
storing  of  wood  in  the  rear  of  the  capitol,  in  order  to 
prevent  any  exposure,  on  his  part,  to  the  damps  of  the 
lower  rooms  of  the  main  building,  which  were  all  then 
which  could  be  used  for  any  such  purpose.  Here,  with 
no  other  materials  than  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  he  wrote  out 
from  memory  the  Report  I  have  mentioned.  Should  you 
give  a  condensed  statement  of  what  is  contained  in  this 
Report,  it  will  be  difficult  for  your  readers  to  realize  how 
any  man  could  retain  in  his  memory  the  vast  amount  of 
material  he  has  so  luminously  placed  upon  record.  His 


LETTERS    FROM    HIS    FRIENDS.  501 

second  Report  was  written,  as  near  as  my  memory  serves 
me,  under  the  same  circumstances;  but  I  am  not  clear  as  to 
the  fact.  After  the  first  Report  was  issued  from  the  press, 
all  of  the  partisan  opposition,  which  had  until  that  time 
followed  upon  his  appointment,  ceased  entirely.  The 
great  merits  of  the  man  then  began  to  be  appreciated,  and 
the  members  of  the  Legislature  of  all  parties  acquiesced 
in  the  propriety  of  his  appointment.  I  have  A  German 
heretofore  sent  you  a  poem  in  the  German  Ian-  poei 
guage  which  he  wrote  at  the  oft-repeated  solicitations  of 
Mr.  August  Kriier,  then  State  Librarian,  and  the  editor 
of  the  Wisconsin  Staats  Zeitung,  published  at  the  cap 
ital.  When  the  Doctor  was  in  the  building,  and  not  in 
the  Executive  room,  he  could  be  safely  looked  for  in  the 
library.  This  piece  of  poetry  was  written  in  a  minute 
or  two  one  afternoon,  while  he  was  in  the  room  under 
charge  of  Mr.  Kriier,  and  apparently  as  much  to  get  rid 
of  his  solicitation  and  secure  himself  from  further  annoy 
ance  as  from  any  other  motive.  As  one  of  the  latest,  if 
not  the  last,  effort  *  of  his  poetical  genius,  it  may  be  of 
some  interest  to  such  as  value  the  memory  of  the 
writer. 

I  became,  as  I  stated,  comparatively  intimate  with  him  ; 
and  often  when  I  was  alone  in  the  office,  he  would  enter 
in  his  quiet  and  subdued  manner  and  stand  by  my  desk 
by  the  hour,  —  I  very  seldom  could  induce  him  to  sit,  — 
and  from  the  rich  stores  of  his  mind,  on  whatever  subject 
I  could  succeed  in  getting  him  to  speak,  hold  me  a  willing 
captive,  perfectly  enchanted,  until  some  one  would  dis 
solve  the  spell  by  entering  the  room ;  when  the  Doctor 
would  drop  his  head,  become  instantly  silent,  and  glide 
away. 

*  Page  465. 


502  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XXI. 

I  succeeded  once  in  securing  the  Doctor's  acceptance 
An  invitation  °f  an  invitation  to  take  dinner  with  me,  and  had 
to  dinner.  prepared  those  with  whom  I  was  residing  for  a 
rich  treat.  I  did  not  understand  his  peculiarities  then  so 
well  as  perhaps  I  should.  He  came  at  the  appointed 
hour,  but  the  treat  I  had  promised  was  furnished  in  mon 
osyllables.  He  ate  of  what  was  placed  before  him  spar 
ingly,  replied  as  briefly  as  possible  to  the  questions 
addressed  to  and  intended  to  draw  him  out,  and  at  the 
earliest  possible  moment  consistent  with  good  breeding 
placed  his  old  cap,  which  in  its  best  estate  could  not  have 
cost  over  half  a  dollar,  upon  his  head,  and  took  his  de 
parture  in  the  humble  manner  peculiar  to  him.  I  never 
invited  him  to  dine  with  me  again,  for  I  saw  that  it  cost 
him  a  painful  effort,  and  that  he  had  obliged  me  by  doing 
so  simply  out  of  a  feeling  of  politeness.  He  was 
remarkably  temperate,  but  I  succeeded  once,  and  only 
once,  by  praising  highly  and  insisting  upon  his  tasting 
some  Port  wine  which  I  had  stored  away  and  intended 
for  visitors,  in  inducing  him  to  drink  a  glass.  The  effect 
was  magical.  There  was  another  gentleman  with  me, 
Mr.  G.  P.  R.  and,  if  my  memory  serves  me  aright,  it  was 

James,  the  * 

novelist.  Mr.  James,  the  novelist,  who  was  then  visiting 
Madison ;  and  this  was  the  only  occasion  when  I  was  not 
alone  with  him  that  he  conversed  freely  and  without 
restraint.  Some  rich  specimens  of  iron  ore  from  Lake 
Superior,  which  had  just  been  forwarded  to  the  Executive 
office,  furnished  me  a  subject  for  his  attention,  and  he 
commenced  speaking  about  the  mines  of  that  metal  in 
this  country  and  in  Europe,  and  from  that  was  led  to  a 
discourse  upon  those  of  greater  intrinsic  value ;  and 
although  one  of  his  auditors  knew  very  little  more  about 
the  subjects  than  I  did  of  the  Sanscrit,  yet  he  held  us 


LETTERS    FROM    HIS    FRIENDS.  503 

willing  and  most  attentive  listeners  for  more  than  an  hour, 
by  the  charm  of  his  style  and  language,  together  with  the 
ease  with  which  he  made  me,  at  least,  in  my  ignorance, 
comprehend  what  he  desired  to  inform  us  of.  If  I  am 
right  in  my  recollection  that  the  other  person  present  was 
Mr.  James,  you  will  understand  the  high  compliment  his 
close  attention  and  silence  implied,  as  he  was  possessed 
of  remarkable  conversational  powers,  and  was  very  apt  to 
monopolize,  himself,  the  attention  of  those  with  whom  he 
chose  to  converse.  I  remember  one  statement  the  Doc 
tor  made  casually  in  the  course  of  his  remarks,  although 
not  exactly  germane  to  the  subject,  and  which  subsequent 
investigation  and  experience  have  substantiated  the  cor 
rectness  of,  and  that  was  that  there  was  no  coal  No  coai  in 
in  Wisconsin,  and  that  it  was  impossible  any  Wlsconsm- 
should  ever  be  found  save  in  what  are  called  "  pockets," 
—  accidental  deposits  which  have  drifted  away  from  other 
sections  where  it  is  found  in  strata ;  and  the  reason  he 
assigned  was  that  the  whole  State  was  below  the  coal 
formation,  although  in  our  neighboring  State  of  Illinois 
vast  beds  of  bituminous  coal  are  found.  Many  of  our 
people,  in  different  parts  of  Wisconsin,  have  been  seized 
lately  with  the  petroleum  fever,  and  have  been  boring  the 
earth  and  the  public ;  but  the  Doctor's  theory  yet  holds 
good,  and  the  only  oil  we  have  here  is  the  imported 
article. 

It  is  unnecessary  for  me  to  state  to  you,  who  must  have 
known  him  well,  that  the  Doctor  was  very  pe-  A  peculiarity 
culiar.  I  shall  never  forget  one  circumstance  lllustrated- 
over  which  I  have  often  laughed  since.  Governor  Bar- 
stow,  who  had  a  sincere  regard  for  him,  had  associated 
with  him,  in  the  survey,  the  Rev.  A.  C.  Barry  of  Racine, 
who,  added  to  his  other  accomplishments,  was  a  geologist 


504  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XXI. 

of  fair  standing,  for  the  purpose  of  aiding  the  Doctor  in 
some  of  the  more  toilsome  parts  of  his  duty,  and  also  to 
care  for  and  see  that  no  untoward  accident  should  befall 
him.  An  old  man  had  then  been  recently  murdered  in 
his  own  wagon  for  a  small  sum  of  money  in  his  posses 
sion  by  a  ruffian,  who  had  induced  his  victim  to  ride 
along  with  him,  and  this  was  the  chief  reason  which  in 
duced  his  Excellency  to  add  Mr.  Barry  to  the  commis 
sion.  This  was  not  to  detract  from  the  Doctor's  salary, 
however.  Governor  Barstow  paid  the  sum  which  was  to 
be  due  the  assistant,  if  I  recollect  aright,  out  of  the  con 
tingent  fund  allowed  him  by  the  Legislature.  As  it 
happened,  Mr.  Barry  could  not,  for  some  reason,  accom 
pany  his  principal  at  the  appointed  time,  but  sent  his 
son,  who  had  attained  some  smattering  of  the  science, 
and  was  then  not  over  seventeen  years  of  age,  in  his 
stead.  Governor  Barstow  left  for  the  East  within  a 
short  time  after  the  Doctor  and  his  young  assistant  started 
on  their  tour  through  the  northern  part  of  the  State. 
Two  weeks  may  have  elapsed,  when  one  afternoon,  much 
to  my  surprise,  the  Doctor  entered  the  office.  After  the 
usual  greetings,  and  a  considerable  hesitation  on  his 
part,  he  broke  out  with,  "  Mr.  Hunter,  I  cannot  continue 
any  longer  with  that  young  man,  indeed  I  cannot."  I 
inquired  what  was  the  difficulty.  "  Sir,"  said  he  in  reply, 
and  he  exhibited  more  nervous  agitation  than  I  had  ever 
observed  in  him  before,  "he  annoys  me  excessively." 
I  hastened  to  assure  him  that,  if  such  was  the  case,  I 
would  discharge  the  young  man,  so  that  he  might  proceed 
alone  if  he  preferred  to  do  so.  He  appeared  to  be  very 
much  relieved  and  thanked  me  warmly.  I  then  inquired 
in  what  respect  his  assistant  had  proved  derelict.  He  re 
plied  with  a  degree  of  solemnity,  "  Sir,  he  whistles,  he 


LETTERS    FROM    HIS    FRIENDS.  505 

throws  stones  at  birds,  and  he  speaks  to  people  witn  whom 
we  meet  on  the  road ;  indeed,  I  cannot  go  with  him  any 
longer."  It  is  needless  to  state  that  the  Doctor  recom 
menced  his  scientific  wanderings  minus  his  assistant, 
whose  geological  researches  among  the  pebble-stones  an 
noyed  him  so  much.  This  circumstance  shows  how  com 
pletely  his  mind  was  absorbed  by  the  subject  he  was 
pursuing.  He  could  not  bear  to  be  interrupted  in  his 
train  of  thought  by  the  trifling  of  a  boy,  as  any  one  who 
has  perused  his  Report,  and  knows  that  it  was  written  en 
tirely  from  memory,  can  readily  understand. 

One  day  the  mail  brought  us  the  laws  of  New  Mexico, 
which  were  printed  in  the  Spanish  language.  The  Doc 
tor  was  standing  by  my  desk,  as  I  tore  off  the  cover,  and 
handing  it  to  him,  I  remarked  carelessly,  "You  understand 
Spanish,  I  believe,  Doctor  ?  "  "  O  yes,  sir,"  he  replied, 

"  I  read  and  teach  the  Spanish,  as  well  as  the  His  linguis 
tic  attain- 
Other   modern   languages   of  Europe.      I    also  ments. 

understand  most  of  the  dialects  of  the  European  tongues. 
I  know  those  of  the  German  and  also  six  of  the  Sla 
vonic."  This  was  said  as  artlessly  as  a  child,  and  without 
any  appearances  or  thought  of  boasting. 

We  had  some  specimens  of  iron  ore  in  the  Executive 
office  from  Lake  Superior.  I  happened  to  know  where 
the  range  was  from  which  the  specimens  were  taken,  and 
mentioned  the  fact  to  the  Doctor.  He  said,  "  In  case  you 
can  secure  any  of  this  land,  Mr.  Hunter,  I  would  advise 
you  to  do  so.  This  ore  is  as  much  better  than  the  best 
Norway  ore  as  that  is  superior  to  the  common  New  Jer 
sey."  I  have  often  regretted  that  I  did  not  take  his  ad 
vice.  Other  matters  drove  it  out  of  my  mind,  and  when 
I  looked  again  for  the  bird,  it  had  flown. 

One  of  the  peculiarities  for  which  the  Doctor  was  re- 

22 


506  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XXI. 

markable  was  his  affection  for  the  wretched  old  horse  he 
His  affection  was  m  tne  habit  of  driving  around  the  State, 
the  cause^f  an^  to  which  I  have  always  attributed  his  death, 
his  death.  Governor  Barstow  and  others  of  his  friends — and 
he  had  many  without  seeking  them  —  were  anxious  that 
he  should  remain  in  Madison,  where  they  could  watch  over 
his  health,  which  was  so  evidently  frail.  He  consented  tc 
this  after  he  had  made  arrangements  with  a  gentleman 
living  at  Hazel  Green,  in  whom  he  had  confidence,  to 
take  care  of  his  horse.  It  was  a  most  unfortunate  occur 
rence  that  this  gentleman  was  taken  sick,  and  the  Doctor 
would  trust  his  horse,  which  was  not  certainly  worth 
above  a  hundred  dollars,  to  no  one  else.  This  was  the 
cause  of  his  leaving  Madison  and  of  his  death.  It  was 
useless  to  attempt  to  persuade  him  that  some  other  per 
son  would  devote  as  much  care  to  the  horse  as  the  gentle 
man  in  whom  he  reposed  his  confidence.  I  had  a  hurried 
interview  with  him  in  the  office.  He  came  in  and  seemed 
quite  excited  ;  told  me  that  he  was  obliged  to  go  to  Hazel 
Green  to  take  care  of  his  horse,  that  our  mutual  ac 
quaintance  there  was  sick,  and  he  could  trust  no  one  else 
to  look  after  his  horse.  I  recollect  now  that  I  was  busy 
about  something  in  the  office,  and  stopped  but  for  a  mo 
ment  to  stare  at  the  Doctor,  and  promised  all  kinds  of  good 
care  and  attention  for  the  animal,  in  case  he  would  bring 
him  to  Madison  and  remain  there  himself,  where  we 
could  look  after  his  health.  He  seemed  to  be  in  haste, 
and  would  not  do  more  than  shake  hands  and  say  good 
by.  This  was  the  last  time  I  ever  saw  him. 

I  once  tempted  the  Doctor  as  a  speculator,  and  failed 

A  specula-     signally.     There  was  a  man  who  pretended  to 

know  all  about  minerals,  who  came  to  me  at 

the  time  he  was  going  over  the  State,  and  informed  me 


LETTERS    FROM    HIS    FRIENDS.  507 

that,  in  case  he  could  find  any  considerable  quantity  of 
the  calamine  of  zinc  ore,  fortunes  would  be  little  less  than 
the  amount  of  the  national  debt  of  England.  Zinc 
paint  was  in  demand.  Calamine  of  zinc  was  the  basis, 
and  Dr.  Percival  could  probably  tell  where  there  was  a 
mine  or  two.  I  can  see  the  sad  smile  with  which  he 
greeted  the  enthusiastic  proposition  I  made  to  him  in  the 
words  of  my  friend,  as  he  said,  "  That  is  nothing  but 
Black  Jack,  as  the  miners  call  it,  Mr.  Hunter,  and  there 
are  many  shiploads  of  it  lying  at  the  mouth  of  the  mines." 
I  never  inquired  any  further  about  the  calamine  of  zinc ; 
and  the  last  I  saw  of  my  metallic  confederate,  he  was 
finding  fault  with  the  national  administration  for  disre 
garding  his  meritorious  claims  to  office.  And  this  recalls 
another  circumstance  connected  with  his  survey,  His  integrity 
which  I  had  forgotten.  Presuming  upon  my  of  character- 
position  and  the  qualified  intimacy  existing  between  us,  I 
asked  him  one  day,  before  he  set  out  on  his  northern  trip, 
if  he  would  not  inform  me,  when  he  returned,  in  case  he 
should  find  any,  where  the  strongest  indications  of  copper 
were.  He  paused  a  moment,  and  looking  at  me  with  his 
speaking  eyes,  remarked,  "No,  I  cannot  do  so.  I  do 
not  think  it  would  be  right ;  when  my  Report  is  ready 
for  the  printer,  I  will  think  of  it."  I  did  not  consider  the 
proposition  wrong  when  I  made  it,  but  I  felt  abashed 
before  the  perfect  uprightness  which  dictated  the  an 
swer 

EDWAKD  M.  HUNTEE. 


508  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XXI. 

TO  THE  EDITOR. 

MADISON,  WISCONSIN,  March  9,  1866. 

MY  DEAR  SIR, — 

....  When  Percival  first  came  to  Madison,  in  August, 
Letter  of  Mr.  1854,  Governor  Barstow  desired  me  to  make  his 
Draper..  acquaintance,  I  having  a  quiet  retreat  and  some 
thing  of  a  library.  During  the  succeeding  winter,  particu 
larly,  he  spent  many  hours,  I  might  say  many  hours  a  day, 
His  library  more  or  less,  every  week  with  me;  and  he  shrank 
perdvS'a  so  much  from  ceremony,  that  I  told  him  always 
to  come  in  without  ringing  the  bell  or  waiting 
to  be  shown  to  my  study.  Thus  he  would  quietly  come, 
sometimes  saying  in  his  soft,  half-suppressed  voice,  "  Mr. 
Draper,  I  have  come  to-day  to  look  over  some  of  your 
New  York  papers,  —  not  to  talk."  On  such  occasions  I 
soon  learned  it  was  useless  to  try  to  draw  him  into  con 
versation.  He  would  make  a  "  Yes  "  or  "  No  "  reply,  and 
pore  over  the  papers.  He  always  appeared  to  read  with 
the  greatest  interest  the  foreign  news,  and  sometimes  some 
European  item  would  serve  to  recall  some  geographical 
locality  he  had  studied  thoroughly,  and  he  would  lay  down 
the  paper,  and  despite  his  protest  originally  that  he  did  not 
come  to  talk,  he  would  give  a  deeply  interesting  narrative 
of  everything  connected  with  the  locality  or  country,  the 
people,  their  habits,  peculiarities,  etc.  At  other  times, 
upon  entering  the  room  he  would  say,  "  Mr.  Draper,  I 
have  come  to  unbend  my  mind  to-day,  if  you  have  leisure, 
—  not  to  talk  "  ;  and  then  for  hours  would  follow  some  of 
those  wonderful  conversational  displays,  generally  re 
lating  to  science,  often  to  geology,  so  peculiar  to  him.  I 
have  met  many  of  our  learned  Americans,  but  it  seems 


LETTERS    FROM    HIS    FEIENDS,  509 

to  me  Dr.  Percival  was  the  most  profound  and  varied  of 
them  all. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  visits,  that  I  said  to  him, 
"  You  seem  to  love  to  converse  about  science,  geography, 
history,  travel,  but  I  am  not  a  little  surprised  that  you 
never  allude  to  a  subject  I  should  naturally  think  you 
would  delight  to  dwell  upon,  —  poetry.  Why  this  His  confes- 
silence,  Doctor  ?  "  I  had  previously  tried,  in 
some  quiet,  unobtrusive  way,  to  introduce  the 
subject  of  his  poetry,  but  he  invariably  evaded  it.  He 
now  replied  that  he  regretted  ever  having  published  any 
poetry ;  that  he  felt  conscious  that  in  many  departments  of 
science  he  could  have  been  useful,  perhaps  even  have  ex 
celled,  but  the  fact  that  he  was  a  poet  was  always  against 
him,  and  it  would  be  said,  "  His  opinion  of  this  or  that 
subject  is  of  no  weight ;  he  is  not  the  man  for  this  enter 
prise,  or  that  position  ;  he  is  nothing  but  a  madcap  poet." 
And  thus  he  said  he  had  never  accomplished  in  life  what 
he  would  otherwise  have  done,  and  seemed  to  regard  his 
life  measurably  a  failure  on  this  account,  and  this  alone. 
He  then  roused  up  from  this  gloomy  picture,  and  related 
the  following  incident.  He  said  that  while  making  his  ge 
ological  exploration  of  the  lead  region  of  Western  Wis 
consin,  in  the  autumn  of  1854,  he  chanced  to 

.  .  A  surprise. 

seek  a  night  s  entertainment  at  a  house  in  the 
country.  He  hitched  his  horse  and  went  into  the  humble 
dwelling.  The  man  of  the  house  was  out  attending  to 
his  evening  duties,  but  would  soon  be  in  ;  but  before  he 
came,  upon  announcing  his  name,  a  little  child  wished  to 
know  if  he  was  the  man  who  wrote  poetry.  Satisfied  on 
this  point,  the  little  one  stood  up  proudly  and  repeated 
one  of  his  own  poems  which  he  had  learned  for  school 
declamation.  Dr.  Percival,  in  relating  the  incident  to  me, 


510  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XXI. 

said  that  it  both  gratified  and  affected  him,  the  more  so 
that  it  should  have  happened  where  he  could  little  have 
expected  it,  in  the  far-off  regions  of  the  West. 

I  remember  once  showing  him  a  newspaper,  and  calling 
An  anecdote  nis  attention  to  an  anecdote  there  related  of  him, 
Qed'  in  substance,  I  think,  that  he  was  persuaded  on 
some  occasion  to  attend  a  select  party  of  literary  persons, 
and  was  importuned  to  sing  a  song.  The  result  was,  he 
began  it  in  so  low  and  soft  a  tone,  and  was  so  completely 
overcome  with  the  emotion  it  produced  on  himself,  that 
little  or  nothing  was  heard  by  his  friends.  When  he 
read  it,  I  asked  him,  perhaps  not  very  directly,  if  it  was 
so.  He  smiled  sweetly,  as  he  often  did  (I  never  knew 
him  to  laugh),  and  shook  his  head  in  denial. 

He  wanted  a  quiet  boarding-place.  There  was  then  a 
Another  pe-  widow  lady  residing  here,  who  had  been  many 

anty'  years  a  successful  teacher  of  young  ladies,  and 
had  a  high  admiration  of  Dr.  Percival  and  his  poetry. 
She  kept  a  few  boarders,  and  he  went  there.  One  day 
the  lady  happened  to  dress  her  little  boy  in  his  presence.  It 
so  shocked  him  that  he  immediately  left  and  chose  a  new 
home. 

I  remember  once  sounding  him  on  his  religious  faith. 
His  religious  His  reply  was  not  very  definite,  —  in  substance 
that  he  was  not  altogether  orthodox.     He  left 
the  impression  upon  my  mind  that  he  probably  coincided 
in  sentiment  mainly  with  the  Unitarians.     I  wish  I  could 
recall  the  incidents,  but  I  cannot. 
Very  truly  yours, 

LYMAN   C.  DRAPER, 

Cor.  Sec.  Wis.  Hist.  Society. 


LETTERS    FROM    HIS    FRIENDS.  511 


TO  ERASMUS  D.  NORTH. 
HAZEL  GKEEN,  WISCONSIN,  December  27, 1856. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

You  requested,  in  your  last  letter,  that  I  would  furnish 
you  with  some  particulars  of  Percival's  life  Dr.Jenckea's 
while  at  the  West ;  which  I  should  have  done  general 

sketch  of  hi3 

ere  this,  had  not  my  time  been  so  much  occu-  western  life. 
pied.  I  first  became  acquainted  with  him  in  the  spring  of 
1853.  The  following  October  I  was  called  to  attend  him 
professionally  as  a  physician.  I  found  him  quite  ill  with 
muco-enteritis  and  intermittent  fever.  I  requested  that 
he  should  be  brought  to  my  house,  as  it  would  be  difficult 
for  me  to  attend  him  at  such  a  distance  from  home,  it 
being  eight  or  ten  miles.  After  his  arrival,  he  was  con 
fined  to  his  bed  about  three  weeks.  A  part  of  this  time 
his  recovery  seemed  doubtful ;  but  as  soon  as  his  disease 
was  subdued,  he  improved  rapidly,  and  during  the  winter 
was  favored  with  excellent  health.  At  this  period  he 
seemed  to  enjoy  life  exceedingly,  and  to  take  great  inter 
est  in  all  that  pertained  to  this  mining  region.  The  first 
year  he  passed  in  Wisconsin  he  was  employed  by  the 
American  Mining  Company.  The  succeeding  year  he 
was  appointed  by  Governor  Barstow,  State  Geologist, 
through  the  influence  of  the  prominent  citizens  of  the 
lead-mining  region  of  Wisconsin,  who  petitioned  the 
Governor  to  that  effect.  He  was  actively  engaged  in  the 
survey  of  the  State  until  within  a  short  period  of  his 
death.  His  first  Report  was  published  in  February,  1855. 
His  second,  which  he  nearly  completed,  will  probably  be 
issued  next  month.  He  visited  every  county  with  the 
exception  of  Douglass,  which  borders  on  Lake  Superior. 


512  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.       [CHAP.  XXI. 

I  have  heard  him  estimate  the  distance  he  had  travelled 
in  his  buggy,  —  which,  I  think,  was  nearly  or  quite  six 
thousand  miles.  He  was  seldom  absent  from  home  longer 
than  a  month  at  a  time ;  usually  after  that  period,  he 
would  return  to  recruit  for  a  few  days.  Occasionally, 
Among  the  while  travelling,  he  met  with  parties  of  the 
Indian  tribes.  Chippewa  and  Winnebago  tribes.  His  inter 
course  with  them  was,  as  he  stated,  unusually  interesting. 
Alone  in  the  forest  with  the  red  men,  who  were  al 
ways  friendly  to  him,  he  succeeded  in  learning  some 
thing  of  their  language  and  history.  The  language  of 
the  Chippewas  he  considered  euphonious;  that  of  the 
Winnebagoes,  harsh  and  guttural.  Yet,  from  his  slight 
investigations  of  their  two  dialects,  he  thought  they  origi 
nally  spoke  one  language. 

Notwithstanding  his  labors  at  the  West  were  arduous 
and  almost  incessant,  while  he  was  often  exposed  to  the 
inclemencies  of  the  weather  and  travelled  through  por 
tions  of  the  country  sparsely  settled,  where  there  were 
many  privations  and  but  few  conveniences  of  life,  his 
three  years  in  Wisconsin  were,  as  he  stated,  the  happiest 
period  of  his  life. 

This  portion  of  Wisconsin  he  held  in  high  estimation, 
Contented  not  only  for  its  mineral  and  agricultural  re- 

with  the 

West.  sources,  but  for  its  natural  beauty  and  healthful- 

ness.  He  frequently  expressed  a  desire  to  purchase  a 
beautiful  farm  within  a  mile  of  this  village,  where  he 
fancied,  in  the  care  of  his  garden  and  in  the  companion 
ship  of  his  books,  he  could  pass  the  remainder  of  his  life 
pleasantly.  Had  he  lived,  I  presume  he  would  have  car 
ried  his  wish  into  effect.  It  would  have  rejoiced  his 
friends  could  they  have  seen  him  at  this  time.  Trans 
lated  from  the  isolation  of  a  lonely  room  to  the  happy 


LETTERS    FROM    HIS    FRIENDS.  513 

influences  of  a  home,  free  from  the  immediate  pressure  of 
pecuniary  want,  surrounded  by  little  children  and  a  circle 
of  friends  by  whom  he  was  appreciated,  but  few  would 
have  recognized  in  the  active,  energetic,  and  social  man 
the  reserved  Percival  of  other  years.  His  affection  for 
children,  especially  those  he  fancied,  was  fre-  His  love  for 

.     children  and 

quently  shown  by  his  kind  attention  to  their  music, 
wants  and  great  solicitude  for  their  welfare.  Many  a 
time  he  took  them  in  his  buggy,  and  would  ride  two  or 
three  miles  for  their  diversion,  evidently  enjoying  himself 
as  much  as  his  little  companions.  His  sincerity  and 
childlike  simplicity  caused  their  attachment  to  be  mutual. 
Music  was  his  favorite  recreation,  for  which  he  had  an 
exquisite  taste.  Frequently  he  would  spend  hours  in 
playing  the  accordion  or  piano.  During  the  first  two  or 
three  months  of  his  last  illness,  he  often  sought  the  enjoy 
ment  and  soothing  influence  of  music. 

His  illness  commenced  soon  after  his  return  in  Decem 
ber,  1855.     A  few  weeks  previous,  while  trav- 

.          His  illness. 

ellmg,  he  had  been  exposed  to  severe  weather, 
which  doubtless  injured  him.  He  complained  of  indiges 
tion  and  constipation  of  the  bowels.  Notwithstanding 
his  ill  health,  he  made  great  exertions  to  complete  his 
Geological  Report ;  but  some  time  in  the  following  March 
he  was  compelled  to  give  up  writing,  and  expressed  a  firm 
conviction  that  his  disease  would  prove  fatal.  This  con 
viction,  he  said,  had  gradually  forced  itself  upon  his 
mind.  No  efforts  on  the  parts  of  his  friends  could  change 
his  views  on  this  point.  At  this  time,  and  indeed  until 
a  fortnight  before  his  decease,  his  friends  here  had  but 
little,  if  any,  expectation  that  his  case  would  prove  alarm 
ing.  I  thought  he  was  suffering  from  chronic  dyspepsia, 
and  that  as  soon  as  the  severe  cold  weather  had  passed, 

22*  GG 


514  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.        [CHAP  XXI. 

and  he  could  resume  his  active  duties,  he  would  recover. 
He  was  particular  as  to  his  diet,  and  his  appetite  remained 
unimpaired  till  within  a  few  weeks  of  his  death.  During 
the  last  month  he  took  but  little  nourishment,  as  it  caused 
him  much  gastric  distress.  Coffee,  however,  he  took  with 
impunity  throughout  his  sickness.  There  was  not,  at  any 
time,  fever  or  undue  vascular  excitement,  and  I  could 
discover  no  indications  of  organic  disease.  As  there 
were  no  marked  symptoms  in  this  anomalous  case  ex 
cepting  indigestion  and  constipation,  as  I  have  stated,  I 
found  it  difficult  to  form  a  satisfactory  diagnosis.  General 
physical  debility  and  emaciation  gradually  increased  until 
the  end.  Several  times  he  remarked,  "  Since  living  at  the 
West,  I  have  overtasked  my  physical  strength,  and  I 
feel  that  I  am  worn  out."  This  last  assertion  expressed 
fully,  I  think,  the  cause  of  his  sufferings  and  disease. 
When  asked  if  he  desired  to  recover,  he  replied,  "  The 
light  of  life  is  pleasant,  but  without  health  life  is  value 
less."  He  was  asked  if,  in  the  event  of  his  death,  he 
His  last  wished  to  be  carried  to  New  Haven.  "No," 
he  said,  "  I  wish  to  be  buried  here,  and  let  my 
remains  be  undisturbed."  He  expressed  no  fears  of  the 
future.  Occasionally  we  saw  him  on  his  knees,  engaged 
in  prayer.  Two  or  three  weeks  before  he  died,  he  would 
frequently  exclaim,  "  My  God  !  my  God  !  "  evidently  re 
lying  on  a  Supreme  power.  He  died  on  the  morning  of 
Friday,  May  22,  1856.  The  following  Sunday  his  body 
was  committed  to  the  ground  by  the  Rev.  T.  N.  Benedict 
of  Galena,  Illinois,  using  the  burial  service  of  the  Epis 
copal  Church. 

During  his  illness  he  received  every  care  and  attention 
from  his  friends  in  this  place.  In  the  presence  of  several 
gentlemen,  he  made  arrangements  in  regard  to  his  tern- 


HIS    LAST    ILLNESS    AND    DEATH.          515 

poral  affairs.     I  cannot  but  regret  that  I  did  not  charge 
my  mind  more  particularly  with  many  of  his  say-  Remarks 
ings  while  he  was  with  us ;  which  I  should  have  Emi8 
done,  had  I   been   aware   or   even   apprehen- character- 
sive  that  his  life  was  so  near  its  close.     He  spoke  freely 
of  his  past  history,  and  freely  on  all  subjects,  except  that 
of  finance.     Once  he  said  to  us  that  he  had  never  spent 
an  hour  of  his  life  in  planning  how  to  make  money. 
Much  of  his  suffering  in  life  I  attributed  to  his  delicate 
organization  and  extreme  sensitiveness,  and  to  his  distrust 
of  mankind  generally,  from  the  fact  of  his  having  been 
sadly  deceived  in  his  boyhood  by  those  who  should  have 
been  his  friends.     It  was  this  which,  through  life,  caused 

him  much  suffering While  here,  we  never  saw  in  him 

the  cynic  or  misanthrope.  Stimulants  and  narcotics  he 
avoided  as  poisons.  I  would  add,  that  no  other  man,  I 
presume,  would  have  been  regarded  by  the  people  of  this 
State  with  more  respect  and  admiration  for  his  scientific 
attainments.  We  regarded  him  almost  in  the  light  of  a 


sinless  being. 


J.  L.  JENCKES. 


The  affectionate  attachment  of  the  Western  people,  who 
came  to  know  him  well,  is  the  last  expression  of  the  warm 
friendship  which  he  always  created  among  his  intimates. 
In  the  public  mind  his  name  now  as  a  leader  Testimonials 

to  his 

among  poets  had  been  superseded  by  younger  worth. 
men  striving  for  the  laurel  crown.  The  poet  Bryant,  in 
a  tribute  to  his  memory,  aptly  said:  "His  devotion  to 
scientific  pursuits  long  survived  his  literary  ambition  ;  and 
though  long  silent  as  a  poet,  the  country  has  lost  in  him 
one  of  the  most  accomplished  of  her  men  of  science,  cut 
down  in  the  vigor  of  his  faculties  and  in  the  midst  of  his 


516  JAMES    GATES    PERCIVAL.      [CHAP.  XXI. 

unfinished  tasks."  *  His  loss  was  widely  noticed  by  the 
press,  and  many  Societies  of  which  he  was  a  member, 
specially  the  State  Historical  Society  of  Wisconsin,  united 
in  reverent  testimonials  to  his  worth.  His  own  Alma 
Mater  laid  her  choicest  chaplet  upon  his  new-made  grave  ; 
and  all  who  loved  the  poet  of  their  youth,  and  all  whom 
his  name  still  fascinates  as  a  great  leader  in  our  literature, 
felt  that  a  prince  among  our  men  of  letters  had  fallen. 
The  number  of  those  who  are  attracted  by  his  genius  is 
not  large,  never  will  be ;  but  there  is  a  mysterious  charm 
about  his  peculiar  life,  a  lofty  spirit  in  his  writings,  a 
great  lesson  in  his  example,  which  will  not  soon  pass 
His  place  in  away.  A  man  of  ripe  judgment  in  literature, 
literature.  Mr  Tuckerman,  has  said,  "Choice  pieces 
enough  may  easily  be  gleaned  from  his  voluminous 
writings  to  constitute  a  just  and  rare  claim  to  renown  and 
sympathy."  There  is  even  now  a  large  number  who 
enjoy  his  poetry  and  venerate  his  memory.  His  tomb  is 
far  away  in  Hazel  Green,  too  far  for  those  of  us  who 
would  gladly  visit  his  resting-place ;  not  too  far  for  im 
aginative  communing  with  the  spirit  of  the  great  one 
gone.  The  sanctuaries  of  our  great  dead  may  be  neg 
lected,  they  cannot  be  forgotten.  Our  grief  for  Percival 
culminates  at  his  grave. 


"  And  Clio,  heavenly  muse, 
Stanzas  from 
A  Lampiit  At  twmght  s  hushed  am 


descends 

A~Lameut"  ~          At  twilight's  hushed  and  solemn  hour, 
for  Percival.        And  o'er  his  tomb  in  silence  bends 

With  grief  beyond  expression's  power. 


1  Thou,  of  the  pure  and  lofty  mind, 

What  was  the  world's  applause  to  thee? 
Should  Fame  her  brightest  chaplet  bind, 
Thou  wouldst  the  dazzling  pageant  flee. 

*  Evening  Post,  May  6,  1856. 


Etau]  TRIBUTES    TO    HIS    MEMORY.  517 

"  Amid  the  shades  of  solitude, 

Where  Contemplation  sits  enthroned, 
Thou  lov'dst  to  dwell,  when  wild  and  rude 
The  autumn  blasts  around  thee  moaned. 

"  Long  as  the  murmuring  stream  shall  flow, 

In  liquid  music  to  the  sea, 
Thy  spotless  name,  dear  bard,  shall  glow, 
In  yon  bright  temple  of  the  free. 

"  Long  as  the  dark  green  pines  shall  wave, 

O'er  breezy  plain  or  towering  steep, 
The  pilgrim  oft  shall  seek  thy  grave, 
And  o'er  the  shrine  of  genius  weep." 


APPENDIX 


APPENDIX  A. 

(PAGE  3.) 
PERCIVAL'S  GENEALOGY. 

IS  brother  Oswin  tells  me  that  the  name  Percival  is 
derived  from  the  ancient  Percy  family,  belonging  to 
the  northern  counties  of  England.  They  were  known, 
or  some  of  them,  as  Percy  de  Valle,  the  Percy  of  the 
valley,  whence  the  name  in  familiar  speech,  Percival. 
He  himself  made  an  elaborate  chart  of  the  English  branch  of  his 
family,  but  it  breaks  off  before  he  comes  down  to  their  emigration 
to  America.  Mr.  Draper  remarks  :  "  In  conversation  with  Dr. 
Percival,  I  learned  that  his  family  were  related  to  the  renowned 
English  statesman,  Spencer  Percival,  and  that  the  American 
branch  first  settled  in  Marblehead,  Massachusetts.  Dr.  Percival 
told  me,  that,  on  one  occasion,  when  he  was  travelling  in  Western 
New  York,  he  stopped  at  a  country  inn,  and  without  knowing  the 
name  of  the  landlord,  instantly  recognized  in  his  features  a  Perci 
val,  and  upon  inquiring  found  that  he  was  a  descendant  from  the 
Marblehead  family  of  that  name."  It  is  probable  that  the  family 
originally  settling  at  Marblehead,  Massachusetts,  emigrated  in  the 
next  generation  to  other  places.  The  following  genealogy  of  the 
family  is  taken  from  the  manuscript  work  of  Mr.  D.  Williams 
Patteson,  an  enthusiastic  and  laborious  scholar. 

James  Percival  was  married  February  27,  1696,  to  Abigail  Rob 
inson,  b.  Barnstable,  Mass.,  March  20,  1674,  dau.  of  John  and  Eliza 
beth  (Weeks)  Robinson,  g.  dau.  of  Isaac  and  Margaret  (Hanaford) 
Robinson,  and  g.  g.  dau.  of  the  celebrated  Loyden  pastor,  the  Rev. 
John  Robinson  and  his  wife,  Bridget  (White)  Robinson. 

"  James  Pasival  of  Falmoth  in  ye  County  of  Barnestable  &  Col- 
lony  of  Boston"  bought  land  in  East  Haddam,  Conn.,  June  19, 
1705,  of  Matthew  Rowley  and  Johanah  his  wife,  of  East  Haddam. 


522  APPENDIX. 

"feb.  2, 1706-7.  Abigail  Parsivel  j*  wife  of  Jeames  parsivel 
being  by  a  letter  recommendatory  dismissed  from  ye  Church  of 
christ  att  barnstable  wrof  she  was  a  member  by  y«  Rev.  Mr. 
Jonathan  Russel  pastor  of  that  church  was  received  among  us 
by  virtue  of  said  Letter/'  —  Records  of  the  First  Church  in  East 
Saddam. 

James  Percival  was  baptized  and  admitted  to  the  church  in  East 
Haddam,  May  1,  1709. 

His  son  John  was  born  at  East  Haddam,  Oct.  17,  1706  ;  bap. 
Feb.  2,  1706-7;  m.  Aug.  5,  1731,  Hannah  Whitmore.  They 
were  admitted  to  the  church,  in  East  Haddam,  Sept.  29,  1734. 
Capt.  John  Percival  died  Sept.  14,  1786,  in  his  eightieth  year;  and 
Mrs.  Hannah  Percival,  May  2,  1803,  in  her  ninety-third  year. 

His  son  James  was  born  at  East  Haddam,  July  6,  1736  ;  bap. 
Aug.  15,  1736.  He  married  for  his  second  wife,  June  19,  1766, 
Dorothy  Gates,  born  at  East  Haddam,  Eeb.  3,  1744,  daughter  of 
Thomas  and  Dorothy  Gates. 

His  son  James  was  born  at  East  Haddam,  April  20,  1 767  ;  bap. 
in  Kensington  Society,  now  Berlin,  Conn.,  Aug.  26,  1787.  He 
married  Elizabeth  Hart.  He  died  suddenly,  at  Berlin,  on  Thurs 
day,  Jan.  22,  1807,  aged  forty  years. 

His  children  were,  — 

1.  Harriet,  who  died  in  her  seventeenth  year. 

2.  Edwin,  born  about  1793,  bap.  at  Kensington,  Oct.  29,  1809  ; 
died  in  Troy,  N.  Y. 

3.  James  Gates,  born  Sept  15,  1795;  bap.  at  Kensington,  Oct. 
29,  1809. 

4.  Oswin  Hart,  born  about  1797;  bap.  at  Kensington,  Oct.  29, 
1809. 


APPENDIX.  523 

APPENDIX  B. 

(PAGE  131.) 

ON  SOME  OF  THE  MORAL   AND    POLITICAL    TRUTHS    DERIVABLE 

FROM  THE  STUDY  OF  HISTORY.  An  Oration  delivered  before 
the  <J>.  B.  K.  Society  of  Yale  College,  September  10,  1822,  by 
Jarnes  G.  Percival,  M.  D. 

IT  is  the  peculiar  property  of  man  to  retain  memorials  of  de 
parted  ages.  Other  animals  know  only  the  generation  before 
them,  and  some  are  even  shut  up  in  their  own  poor  selves.  But 
men  in  all  grades  and  all  conditions  preserve  the  record  of  the 
past,  and  rescue  the  deeds  of  former  times  from  oblivion.  The  sav 
age  has  his  traditions,  and  the  cultured  man  his  monuments  and 
his  annals  to  give  permanency  to  the  events  that  have  passed  away ; 
and  long  after  their  bones  have  crumbled,  the  actions  of  the  per 
ished  great  are  familiar  to  us  as  household  words. 

It  is  interesting  to  stand  on  the  present  moment,  and  look  back 
on  the  tumultuous  sea  that  is  rolling  behind  us,  and,  while  we  feel 
firm  in  our  own  security,  follow  the  track  of  empire  and  of  nation 
through  all  the  brightness  of  prosperity  and  the  storms  of  political 
convulsion.  It  is  interesting  to  see  many  a  strong  ship  that  had 
ventured  forth  on  a  long  and  daring  voyage,  battling  with  the 
tempest  and  sinking  in  the  waters,  and  many  a  feeble  bark  gliding 
along  in  calm  and  sunshine,  and  seeking  a  quiet  course  in  the  shel 
ter  of  the  shore. 

We  are  not  confined  in  our  researches  to  the  crowds  that  are 
moving  around  us.  We  can  go  far  off  among  the  nations  and  far 
back  among  the  centuries,  and  learn  from  the  errors  of  those  who 
are  and  have  been,  to  be  wiser  for  the  future.  We  have  indeed  a 
greater  readiness  to  learn  than  to  profit  by  our  knowledge,  and  the 
philanthropist  has  been  too  often  disappointed  and  heart-sickened 
by  the  perversity  of  man  to  hope  for  much  that  is  better  or  brighter 
in  society.  But  if  nothing  else  can  prompt  to  study  the  remains 
of  the  past,  our  curiosity  will  not  suffer  us  to  neglect  them.  We 
too  often  know  more  of  the  thousand  years  that  are  gone  by  than 
the  days  that  are  passing  around  us,  and  more  of  the  lands  where 


524  APPENDIX. 

the  sun  rises  and  sets  than  the  spots  in  our  own  immediate  vicinity. 
We  have  little  reason  to  fear  that  Troy  will  be  forgotten,  or  Rome 
perish  from  our  thoughts.  While  their  heroes  and  their  sages  can 
ornament  the  pages  of  the  lettered  man,  we  may  rest  assured  he 
will  not  fail  to  profit  by  them  ;  and  while  there  are  scholars  proud 
of  knowing  all  that  is  curious  and  rare,  we  shall  not  even  forget 
the  idlest  whims  of  ancient  extravagance. 

It  is  to  little  purpose  that  we  remember  facts  if  we  do  not  com 
pare  them.  The  knowledge  made  up  of  insulated  details  is  a  vain 
possession.  It  is  better  to  reason  from  our  own  experience,  and  to 
draw  lessons  from  the  humble  events  of  our  own  lives,  than  to  know 
all  the  greatest  things  that  the  greatest  men  have  done,  only  as 
things  that  have  been.  We  may  commend  the  memory  of  the  man 
who  carries  about  with  him  a  full  and  perfect  table  of  chronology, 
but  we  can  never  confide  to  such  an  one  even  the  smallest  of  our 
interests. 

Much  has  been  written  on  the  study  and  use  of  History.  It 
surely  cannot  be  worth  our  while  to  learn  the  simple  details  of 
events  and  to  store  our  memory  with  their  dates,  for  the  mere  pur 
pose  of  repeating  them  on  occasion,  or  in  other  words,  that  we 
may  not  be  thought  ignorant  in  good  company.  The  man  who 
knows  his  own  value,  and  who  feels  that  a  page  of  true  philosophy 
is  better  than  a  whole  library  of  curious  knowledge,  will  never  fear 
to  say  "  No,"  where  a  vain  curiosity  is  alone  concerned.  He  will 
have  none  of  those  terrors  which  little  minds  feel,  when  they  find 
themselves  in  the  society  of  anecdotists  and  amateurs  ;  and  while 
he  is  conscious  that  he  is  the  slave  of  no  prejudice  and  the  pure 
disciple  of  truth  and  nature,  he  will  care  little  for  the  names  that 
have  strutted  their  brief  hour  before  the  admiring  crowd. 

History  should  be  philosophy  teaching  by  example.  If  we  read 
it  to  be  amused,  we  shall  indeed  dwell  on  the  splendid  array  of 
power  and  magnificence  that  fills  its  pages  ;  but  if  we  seek  instruc 
tion,  we  shall  inquire  into  the  causes  that  have  moved  these  pa 
geants,  and  examine  the  more  concealed  and  humbler  instruments 
by  which  all  the  pride  of  empire  is  sustained.  The  inquiring  mind 
cannot  rest  satisfied  without  discovering  the  causes  of  things,  and 
in  no  inquiry  does  the  discovery  so  well  compensate  the  labor  as  in 
the  search  after  the  properties  of  our  own  nature.  From  no  other 
can  we  hope  or  derive  so  much  advantage ;  for  all  that  we  there 
learn  we  can  apply.  We  can  there  learn  the  measure  of  our 


APPENDIX.  525 

knowledge.  We  can  there  set  bounds  to  that  restless  curiosity 
which  has  wandered  and  lost  its  way  in  speculations  that  can  only 
bewilder,  and  in  regions  where  thought  is  delirium.  We  can  there 
learn  how  limited  is  the  field  of  true  inquiry,  and  how  much  that 
has  been  called  science  is  an  airy  and  baseless  vision  ;  often  beauti 
ful  in  its  ornaments  and  proportions  and  grand  in  its  elevation,  but 
only  awaiting  the  first  strong  assault  of  reason  to  fall  in  ruins. 
We  can  there  learn  that  the  proudest  fabrics  of  thought,  the  tem 
ples  of  mind  where  ages  have  offered  sacrifice  and  millions  have 
heard  the  oracles  of  a  fancied  wisdom,  that  all  these  adored  illu 
sions  have  vanished  in  their  turn,  and  left  scarce  a  solitary  wor 
shipper  to  lament  their  fall.  We  shall  there  learn,  too,  the  measure 
of  our  power.  We  shall  know  how  far  we  can  hope  to  command 
the  elements,  and  bend  to  our  will  the  mightier  energies  of  nature. 
We  shall  no  longer  expect  the  ministration  of  spirits  to  work  us 
wonders.  We  shall  no  longer  trust  in  the  power  of  charm  and 
talisman,  but  confiding  alone  in  the  combinations  of  science  we 
shall  do  and  have  done  what  antiquity  would  have  gazed  on  with 
mute  astonishment ;  but  we  shall  still  find  the  reality  less  than  our 
anticipations  had  formed  it.  We  shall  there  learn  too  the  measure 
of  our  happiness.  Founded  as  it  is  on  the  virtues  of  individuals 
and  the  labors  of  public  wisdom,  we  can  there  learn  from  what 
men  have  been,  what  they  will  be.  We  can  learn  in  the  past  how 
circumstances  have  modified  habits  and  feelings,  how  the  public 
character  has  been  formed  to  independence  and  industry,  or  servil 
ity  and  indolence,  and  thus  from  the  causes  which  are  acting 
around  us,  and  the  motives  which  are  moving  and  controlling  us, 
we  can  judge  what  will  be  the  unchecked  result  of  these  combina 
tions,  and  what  counter-motives  are  necessary  to  preserve  those 
institutions,  without  which  society  is  no  home  for  the  good. 

It  cannot  be  expected  that  I  should  embrace  in  the  compass  of 
an  oration,  a  full  and  perfect  system  of  historical  truth.  I  can 
only  point  out  some  of  the  great  results  which  we  can  derive  from 
the  study  of  the  past.  I  have  not  adhered  to  a  rigid  system  in  the 
arrangement  of  my  conclusions.  As  they  arose  I  have  recorded 
them,  and  if  the  whole  appears  disconnected  and  discordant,  I  can 
trust  to  your  kindness  to  overlook  its  imperfections. 

We  are  struck  at  once,  in  surveying  the  past,  with  the  short 
duration  of  those  empires  which  a  single  man  had  formed.  It  is  a 
consoling  reflection  that  unprincipled  and  uncontrolled  ambition 


526  APPENDIX. 

should  so  rarely  leave  anything  behind  it  but  the  track  of  its  deso 
lating  progress.  Like  the  hurricane  in  the  forest,  for  a  time  it 
levels  the  strong  and  the  lofty,  but  it  soon  passes  away,  the  ele 
ments  of  society  are  again  calm,  and  new  cities  and  new  nations 
rise  from  the  ruins  it  had  made.  We  need  only  look  at  the  exam 
ples  of  Alexander,  Charlemagne,  and  Bonaparte.  The  empires  of 
the  two  former  fell  to  pieces  at  their  decease,  and  the  latter  sur 
vived  his  empire.  The  cause  is  obvious.  Nations  cannot  long 
hold  together  when  suddenly  united.  It  is  necessary  that  their 
habits  and  their  interests  should  be  gradually  blended,  that  one 
link  should  be  Sdded  and  then  another  to  the  chain  that  connects 
them,  or  they  will  necessarily  obey  the  impulse  of  their  peculiar 
feelings,  and  part  when  the  strong  hand  that  united  them  is  with 
drawn.  There  is  another  conspiring  cause  of  separation  in  the 
conflicting  interests  of  the  favorites  of  a  conqueror.  They  can 
obey  the  man  who  had  made  them,  but  not  each  other.  Accus 
tomed  to  associate  as  equals  under  a  common  head,  when  they 
have  lost  that  head,  each  seeks  his  portion  in  the  empire  of  his 
master,  and  begins  himself  to  affect  the  god.  So  fell  the  empire 
of  Alexander,  and  such  might  have  been  the  fate  of  the  French 
empire  if  it  had  been  less  pressed  from  abroad,  and  if  the  great 
leader  who  formed  it  had  died  in  the  height  of  his  conquests. 

The  Roman  empire  was  gradually  formed ;  many  hundred  years 
were  necessary  to  build  it,  and  thousands  of  hands  were  employed 
in  its  construction.  These  were  all  great  men  :  they  might  have 
singly  ruled  an  empire,  but  they  were  actuated  by  a  mighty  na 
tional  spirit ;  they  followed  a  plan  which  had  been  devised  in  the 
birth  of  their  nation,  and  with  a  self-forbearance  and  patriotic  de 
votion  that  had  no  equal,  they  persevered  in  the  same  grand  design, 
and  bound  up  all  their  energies  in  the  advancement  of  the  republic. 
When  they  conquered  a  nation  they  did  not  annihilate  its  national 
individuality.  They  suffered  it  to  retain  its  municipal  regulations 
so  far  as  they  did  not  essentially  interfere  with  the  Roman  power. 
They  left  it,  its  religion,  its  customs,  and  often  its  courts  and  as 
semblies.  It  was  the  pride  of  Rome  that  her  freemen  ruled  kings  : 
the  plebeian  Consul  not  only  dragged  them  in  triumph  at  his 
chariot  wheels,  but  the  Proconsul  took  his  seat  over  them  in  their 
own  capitals,  and  with  a  gratifying  mockery  suffered  them  to 
retain  their  crowns  and  sceptres  at  the  expense  of  their  power. 

We  can  read  in  the  history  of  Rome  the  history  of  every  empire. 


APPENDIX.  527 

We  can  there  find  the  means  of  securing  national  advancement 
and  perpetuity,  and  equally  the  causes  of  dissolution  and  decay. 
We  can  there  learn  that  without  public  spirit  no  nation  can  remain 
free  and  permanent.  His  country  was  the  Roman's  idol ;  his  citi 
zenship  was  his  richest  treasure.  It  was,  too,  his  proudest  distinc 
tion.  It  was  better  to  command  respect  and  secure  obedience 
abroad  than  all  the  trappings  of  royalty.  The  very  name  of  Ro 
man  struck  a  terror  through  the  nations.  Every  citizen  found  his 
highest  advantage  in  the  glory  of  his  country,  and  his  whole  educa 
tion  was  calculated  to  cultivate  the  love  of  that  glory. 

It  is  harder  to  form  habits  than  to  continue  them.  It  was  harder 
to  make  the  Romans  a  race  of  warriors  acting  for  the  extension  of 
their  country's  power,  than  to  keep  up  the  military  spirit  when 
formed.  We  must  look  to  its  earlier  history  for  the  full  operation 
of  the  causes  which  formed  that  peculiar  empire.  They  then 
sought  to  cultivate  the  love  of  glory.  They  had  formed  a  most 
delicate  sense  of  national  honor,  which  regarded  disgrace  worse 
than  death,  and  submission  to  an  enemy  an  irreparable  evil.  They 
were  bound  never  to  desert  their  eagles.  There  was  no  shame  like 
that  of  a  wound  in  flight.  This  sense  of  national  honor,  keener 
than  that  remnant  of  chivalry,  which  now  leads  so  many  into  single 
combat,  was  preserved  to  a  late  age.  When  the  simple  virtues  of 
the  early  Roman  were  gone  this  was  retained,  and  it  was  not  till 
their  armies  were  filled  with  foreign  mercenaries  that  it  ceased  to 
influence  the  destinies  of  the  empire. 

Each  soldier  was  at  first  a  citizen  and  had  an  interest  in  the  soil. 
A  nation  of  landholders,  who  owe  no  rent  for  the  soil  they  occupy, 
must  be  miserably  degraded  in  spirit  to  be  enslaved.  If  they  know 
the  full  worth  of  their  advantages  they  cannot  but  be  free.  I 
speak  of  such  as  possess  the  common  energies  of  man,  and  who 
are  free  from  the  control  of  superstition.  Superstition  can  make 
any  people  slaves.  The  strongest  and  most  independent  may  be 
bowed  to  that  imaginary  terror.  There  is  no  slavery  like  that  of 
the  mind.  It  is  better  to  think  freely  in  fetters  than  to  walk  the 
wide  earth  the  victim  of  panic  terrors.  If  designing  men  can  suc 
ceed  in  fastening  on  the  public  mind  the  belief  that  an  invisible 
power  is  incensed  against  them,  and  that  they  hold  in  their  hands 
the  means  of  mediation,  they  may  gain  over  that  people  any  ex 
tent  of  power ;  and  where  the  public  mind  is  thus  enslaved,  indi 
viduals  must  have  a  most  daring  independence  to  speak  their 


528  APPENDIX. 

thoughts.  All  the  restraints  of  the  press  and  all  the  threats  of 
authority  are  not  as  powerful  in  controlling  thought  as  this  fear 
that  lurks  in  every  corner. 

A  nation  of  landholders  have  the  strongest  interest  in  the  soil 
of  their  country.  Their  all  is  there ;  if  they  leave  it,  they  have  lost 
the  foundation  that  sustained  them ;  if  they  yield  to  others,  they 
may  lose  their  possessions  with  their  power.  But  this  is  not  all. 
The  long-continued  occupation  of  a  spot  gives  it  a  sacredness  in 
our  feelings ;  we  are  tied  to  it  by  a  thousand  pleasant  associations ; 
it  was  the  scene  of  childhood  and  its  cheerful  amusements;  of 
youth  and  its  warm  and  deep  emotions ;  of  manhood  and  its  cares 
and  labors.  It  has  become  to  us  the  temple  of  our  Penates,  —  the 
altar  where  we  worship  the  spirit  of  our  domestic  endearments,  and 
the  tomb  that  holds  the  ashes  of  our  fathers.  Pro  aris  el  focis  is 
the  last  appeal.  "  We  will  retreat  to  the  tombs  of  our  fathers,  and 
we  will  meet  you  there."  A  nation  that  does  not  mean  to  decay 
should  never  hire.  The  mere  mercenary  is  of  course  treacherous. 
If  a  traitor  pay  him  better,  he  will  plunge  his  hands  in  the  blood 
of  the  state  that  employs  him. 

The  empire  spread  with  most  rapidity  after  the  plebeians  were 
admitted  to  an  equal  share  in  honors.  There  is  an  advantage  in 
persuading  the  people  that  they  have  a  share  in  the  government, 
even  if  they  have  none.  They  are  proud  of  their  vote  if  they  offer 
it  for  sale.  They  think  they  have  a  mighty  control  over  the  pub 
lic  destinies  if  they  possess  a  right  which  they  exchange  for  the 
merest  trifle.  There  is  nothing  that  paralyzes  a  nation  more  than 
closing  the  way  to  honor  but  to  a  privileged  few.  France  has 
taught  us  this.  During  the  last  century,  under  the  Bourbons,  she 
did  nothing  in  war  because  her  nobility  could  alone  be  promoted. 
But  under  the  late  empire,  when  the  meanest  soldier  could  hope  to 
wield  the  marshal's  staff,  and  when  many  of  the  greatest  generals 
were  raised  from  their  ranks,  their  march  was  like  the  flight  of  their 
eagles. 

There  was  an  advantage  in  the  struggle  of  the  two  classes  in 
Rome.  They  excited  each  other;  they  were  jealous  of  each  other ; 
but  they  were  jealous  of  honor  as  well  as  of  power.  The  patri 
cians  had  all  the  high  spirit  of  an  ancient  nobility.  They  could 
not  refuse  the  plebeians  a  participation  in  power,  because  these  had 
the  right  of  the  strongest.  They  could  only  run  with  them  the 
race  of  glory  and  struggle  to  gain  the  prize.  They  had  the  advan- 


APPENDIX.  529 

tage  of  combination  on  their  side,  and  they  ultimately  prevailed ; 
but  they  purchased  their  victory  at  the  price  of  their  country's 
freedom. 

The  empire  owed  much  of  its  prosperity  to  the  influence  of  re 
ligion.  Its  early  lawgiver,  like  the  legislators  of  all  rude  nations, 
saw  the  necessity  of  calling  in  the  aid  of  divinity  to  establish  his 
laws.  The  institution  of  auguries  was  the  most  powerful  part  of 
their  religion.  It  was  directed  by  the  highest  men  in  the  republic. 
It  was  an  instrument  of  controlling  efficacy  in  the  hands  of  men 
whose  aim  was  the  nation's  glory.  It  could  check  the  march  of 
affairs  when  the  public  strength  was  dissipated,  and  give  them  time 
to  consolidate  their  forces.  It  could  urge  them,  in  necessity,  to  the 
height  of  enthusiasm,  and  give  to  them  that  full  confidence  in  the 
higher  powers,  which  is  the  earnest  of  success  to  the  people  who 
possess  it.  Enlightened  men  in  later  times  saw  the  deception  and 
exposed  it.  They  acted  unwisely,  for  real  motives  are  weaker  than 
imaginary  ones.  They  are  founded  on  transient  objects,  and  are 
therefore  short  lived  themselves ;  while  the  other,  founded  on  an 
ideal  conception,  on  an  image  ever  present  to  the  mind,  and  ever 
acting  on  the  will,  die  not  with  one  generation,  but  are  transmitted 
from  father  to  son,  are  inwoven  with  the  earliest  thoughts  and  feel 
ings  of  childhood,  and,  from  the  very  fact  of  their  indefiniteness, 
gain  that  mysterious  uncertain  sway  over  the  mind,  which  always 
grows  and  always  deepens,  the  more  it  is  seen  and  the  longer  it  is 
followed. 

An  empire  founded  on  religion  may  rise  rapidly  and  last  long. 
The  conqueror  who  makes  himself  a  prophet  or  a  god  lives  for 
ages  in  the  spirit  of  his  institutions.  He  has  left  his  representative 
behind  him  to  occupy  his  throne,  and  command  the  awe  which  no 
man  in  his  individual  capacity  can  long  maintain.  His  favorites 
will  submit  to  the  supremacy  of  his  religion  when  he  is  gone.  If 
one  of  their  number  is  raised  above  them,  they  will  not  refuse  obe 
dience,  because  he  has  the  added  sanctity  of  a  holy  office  to  disarm 
their  envy.  A  permanent  motive  is  provided  in  the  spread  and 
support  of  the  divine  cause  they  are  engaged  in.  Its  limits  cannot 
become  too  wide  till  they  are  universal,  and  nothing  can  check  the 
zeal  of  their  efforts  till  many  and  repeated  discomfitures  have 
taught  them  that  their  cause  is  not  invincible.  The  Saracenic  em 
pire  was  formed  on  this  principle,  and  its  influence  is  not  yet  lost. 
The  cry,  the  crescent  is  in  danger,  will  awaken  the  followers  of 
23  HH 


530  APPENDIX. 

the  prophet  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Indian  Ocean.  A  little  light 
shed  on  them  by  a  pure  philosophy,  a  better  knowledge  of  the 
powers  of  nature,  would  dissipate  the  illusion,  and  they  would  be 
as  little  ready  to  flock  to  the  green  standard,  as  the  Christian  na 
tions  of  Europe  to  take  the  cross  and  again  rush  on  the  infidels. 

There  is  a  limit  in  the  duration  of  all  things.  We  are  willing 
to  believe  the  contrary,  and  to  confide  in  the  permanency  of  those 
institutions  which  are  our  protection  and  our  ornament.  We 
imagine  there  is  a  perpetuity  in  present  things.  We  think  the  in 
fluence  of  the  press  and  the  consequent  spread  of  knowledge,  the 
influence  of  religion  and  the  consequent  purity  and  humanity,  will 
uphold  our  institutions  beyond  the  common  limits  of  national  es 
tablishments,  and  render  the  soil  we  inhabit  forever  sacred  to  en 
lightened  freedom.  But  other  nations  have  fallen,  the  light  of 
ancient  civilization  went  out,  and  why  may  not  the  same  fate  await 
ours  ?  It  is  wise  to  trace  the  causes  which  destroyed  the  power 
and  extinguished  the  light  of  antiquity,  for  we  may  derive  from 
the  research  some  hints  of  value  to  ourselves.  The  tale  is  soon 
told.  The  combination  of  the  great  and  the  corruption  of  the 
many  destroyed  the  empire.  The  universal  spirit  of  dissipation  and 
sordid  gain  enfeebled  and  besotted  and  deformed  the  public  mind, 
so  that  philosophy  and  religion  were  alike  perverted  and  forgotten. 

One  cause  of  the  dissolution  of  the  empire  was  the  extension  of 
the  right  of  citizenship.  It  was  confined  at  first  to  native  citizens 
of  Rome,  but  gradually  one  and  another  small  state  was  added, 
till  it  was  extended  throughout  Italy.  It  was  given  too  as  a  mark 
of  favor  to  many  in  all  the  conquered  nations.  Each  of  these  new- 
made  citizens  could  interfere  in  the  affairs  of  the  republic.  They 
could  scatter  and  weaken  that  national  spirit,  by  which  the  empire 
was  founded,  and  which  could  be  only  efficient  when  concentrated. 
They  widened  the  limits  of  Rome,  and  extended  the  boundaries  of 
the  city  to  the  boundaries  of  the  empire.  They  made  the  whole  of 
its  wide  domain  an  arena  of  civil  contention.  They  were  the  ready 
tools  of  the  aspiring  demagogue.  They  were  marched  in  armies 
to  the  comitia  beneath  the  banner  of  a  favorite  candidate,  and  they 
too  often  converted  the  forum  and  the  campus  martins  into  fields 
of  blood.  With  this  aid  to  back  him,  the  power  of  a  successful 
demagogue  became  absolute.  He  had  only  to  speak  a  word  or  give 
a  sign,  and  his  enemy  was  annihilated.  He  could  work  the  willing 
mob  into  a  frenzy  against  the  advocate  of  their  own  best  interests. 


APPENDIX.  531 

When  Tiberius  Gracchus  sought  to  reform  the  republic,  to  break 
down  that  monstrous  distinction  of  ranks  and  fortunes,  which  had 
divided  the  state  into  lords  and  slaves,  — in  fine,  to  bring  back  the 
simplicity  of  early  times,  that  very  populace  whose  cause  he  was 
urging  was  driven  on  by  its  oppressors  to  commit  against  him  the 
vilest  atrocities.  We  may  find  the  parallel  of  this  corruption  in 
an  unlimited  suffrage.  If  we  could  rely  on  the  virtue  of  all,  we 
could  intrust  to  all  the  highest  power  :  for  the  power  of  appointing 
and  displacing  is  the  greatest.  But  this  power  is  nothing  unless  it 
is  exercised  with  independence.  It  no  longer  inheres  in  the  nomi 
nal  possessor,  but  has  passed  over  to  the  leader  who  commands  or 
sways  him.  In  societies  endowed  with  only  the  common  degree 
of  virtue  and  intelligence,  an  imlimited  suffrage  is  a  tool  in  the 
hands  of  the  strong  and  the  artful.  It  is  impossible  that  those  who 
cannot  direct  their  own  common  interests  should  decide  on  the 
interests  of  the  public.  Indeed,  common  sense  has  always  excluded 
some  from  the  elective  franchise ;  and  if  some,  why  not  many  ? 
Those  who  already  possess  the  rights  of  citizens,  who  have  formed 
and  sustain  the  political  fabric,  have  a  right  to  associate  whom  they 
will  in  the  high  privilege.  Men  are  not  born  to  political  rights. 
If  their  natural  rights  are  encroached  upon  by  the  government  that 
protects  them,  as  a  consequence  of  human  nature  they  will  resist, 
and  may  prevail.  When  the  unprivileged  and  undeserving  have 
increased  to  an  overwhelming  majority,  they  will  know  then* 
physical  strength  and  exert  it :  but  they  will  use  it  only  to  throw  it 
away.  It  will  only  be  a  new  addition  to  the  power  of  some  as- 
pirer.  That  government  is  preparing  its  own  grave,  where  the 
power  of  the  great  galls  the  multitude,  and  the  crowd  of  the  idle 
and  the  dissolute  has  swelled  beyond  the  virtuous  advocates  of 
order.  Where  there  is  a  mob  unfit  to  govern,  and  too  numerous 
to  be  despised,  demanding  a  full  share  in  the  rights  of  citizens,  to 
refuse  them  is  destruction,  for  it  will  end  in  civil  tumult ;  to  com 
ply  is  alike  fatal,  for  the  state  will  be  stifled  in  corruption.  It  is 
but  giving  up  the  government  to  the  hands  of  a  despot.  This 
leads  us  to  the  conclusion,  that  government  must  be  suited  to  the 
state  of  the  governed.  A  corrupt  society  requires  a  strong  govern 
ment.  It  not  only  requires  it,  but  it  will  sooner  or  later  have  one. 
We  speak  of  a  government  as  if  it  were  something  distinct  from 
the  people,  as  if  it  were  an  independent  power  possessing  its  own 
life  in  itself,  not  depending  for  its  existence  on  its  adaptation  to  the 


533  APPENDIX. 

crowd  it  rests  on.  A  government  may  be  wholly  discordant  with 
the  feelings  of  the  many  and  yet  last  long,  but  it  must  make  that 
many  weak  and  itself  strong.  It  must  attach  to  itself,  and  feed 
and  pamper  a  combination  strong  enough  to  crush  the  rest.  It 
must  darken  and  debilitate  and  divide  the  public  mind.  But  a 
strong  government  may  rule,  and  the  most  successful  of  them  do 
rule  by  humoring  the  favorite  foibles  of  the  crowd.  If  the  Lon 
doner  can  evaporate  his  patriotism  in  a  mob,  and  the  Parisian  de 
light  himself  with  a  brilliant  spectacle,  they  will  leave  the  state  to 
move  on  unmolested.  Every  new  struggle  of  the  populace  will 
then  only  bind  its  chains  the  faster. 

Another  cause  of  the  ruin  of  the  empire  was  the  growth  of  the 
capital.  This  was  the  natural  consequence  of  things.  A  govern 
ment  that  is  felt  will  be  sought.  Some  will  go  to  deprecate  its  re 
sentment,  but  more  to  profit  by  its  favors.  They  naturally  believe 
the  hand  that  can  injure  must  have  power,  and  that  power  they 
hope  may  be  made  propitious.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  ignorant 
nations  worship  their  evil  spirits  with  the  highest  devotion.  No 
wonder  there  should  be  little  warmth  in  worship  when  the  attri- 
bittes  of  their  deities  are  only  kindness  and  mercy.  Such  a  re 
ligion  is  like  a  warm  and  sunny  day.  We  bask  in  its  brightness, 
we  sport  in  its  mellow  atmosphere,  and  are  absorbed  in  the  inten 
sity  of  our  pleasures ;  but  when  the  clouds  gather  and  the  storm 
rolls  over  us,  we  feel  our  own  insignificance  and  know  there  is  a 
strength  surpassing  ours.  So  it  is  with  a  dark  religion  and  a 
strong  government ;  the  one  is  worshipped  with  fear  and  trembling, 
the  other  is  courted  with  anxious  hope. 

A  government  that  is  felt  draws  crowds  around  its  centre,  and 
these  crowds,  of  course,  form  a  great  city.  When  they  are  once 
stationed  they  must  have  employment.  Naturally  indolent,  as  all 
men  are  who  are  not  governed  by  a  commanding  motive,  they  are 
fit  tools  for  the  state  to  work  with.  They  love  those  alternations 
of  slothful  repose  and  boisterous  excitement,  which  make  up  the 
life  of  the  soldier  and  the  retainer.  A  city  formed  in  this  way  is 
the  worst  of  cities,  because  it  incloses  the  greatest  amount  of  idle 
ness  and  debauchery,  and  because  it  gives  the  most  frequent  excite 
ment  to  those  combustible  materials.  The  world  looks  pale  at  the 
enormities  of  Rome.  We  can  hardly  imagine  human  nature  could 
be  so  infected.  There  was  an  openness,  an  effrontery  in  its  vice, 
that  would  make  a  modern  capital  blush :  and  this  was  habitual ; 


APPENDIX.  533 

not  the  momentary  excitement  of  a  mob  or  a  revolution,  not  the 
atrocities  of  a  few  mad  years  followed  by  a  calm,  but  a  permanent 
grossness  and  cruelty,  which  no  blood  could  satiate  and  no  indul 
gence  could  weary. 

Commerce  was  disgraceful  to  a  Roman,  and  Rome  was  not  a 
trading  city.  It  became  a  city  of  intrigue,  of  corruption,  and  of 
pleasure.  The  evil  of  the  empire  was  there  concentrated.  Discon 
tented  and  disorderly  spirits  assembled  there,  and  were  always 
ready  for  a  change.  Each  had  his  price,  and  the  spoils  of  the 
world  were  wasted  in  feeding  and  amusing  with  shows  and  specta 
cles  the  instruments  of  ambition.  Like  the  waves  when  the  winds 
are  in  conflict,  they  now  rolled  with  one  and  then  yielded  to  an 
other,  till  the  unbridled  populace  became  one  mingled  mass  of  up 
roar  and  confusion. 

A  great  city  is  always  an  evil.  It  may  be  necessary,  but  it  is  an 
evil  still.  It  excites  the  passions.  The  influence  of  a  mob  is  mad 
dening.  Minds  when  crowded  and  conflicting  take  fire  by  collision. 
The  effect  of  sympathy  is  next  to  miraculous.  A  great  crowd  is  as 
one  body.  An  emotion  excited  at  one  extremity  runs  with  electri 
cal  velocity  through  the  whole.  Sober  men  may  become  mad  in 
such  a  crowd.  They  may  be  wrought  in  their  insanity  to  deeds 
they  would  have  thought  impossible  in  their  cooler  moments.  They 
may  be  driven  on  by  an  artful  eloquence,  by  inflammatory  cries  of 
alarm  and  watchwords  of  danger,  to  prostrate  in  an  hour  the  work 
of  ages.  The  strongest  government  may  tremble  at  such  a  shock. 
But  often  when  they  have  triumphed,  and  old  institutions  are  lev 
elled,  and  society  is  in  ruins,  they  weep  over  the  very  ruins  their 
hands  have  made.  Then,  in  their  weariness  and  regret,  when  they 
repose  on  the  mischief  they  had  wrought  and  the  ashes  of  the  fires 
they  had  kindled,  —  then  comes  the  watchful  demagogue  and  makes 
them  his  slaves. 

A  great  city  stifles  and  dissipates  the  feelings  of  nature.  It  draws 
us  from  the  bosom  of  our  common  mother,  and  of  course  gives 
birth  to  inequality  and  oppression.  It  gives  full  scope  to  cunning 
and  fraud.  It  encourages  monopolies.  It  gives  birth  to  those  sys 
tematic  establishments  of  labor  ;  those  living  machines,  where  the 
hands  of  thousands  are  moved  like  the  wheels  of  an  engine.  Man 
there  loses  his  independence  and  becomes  the  instrument  of  another. 
He  loses  his  sense  of  dignity,  his  self-respect.  He  has  no  longer 
that  sure  prop  of  personal  worth,  without  which  morals  totter  and 


534  APPENDIX. 

virtue  falls.  But  he  does  not  come  willingly  to  this.  Nature  feels 
many  pangs  hefore  she  dies.  And  when  her  light  has  gone  out, 
and  there  is  a  full  conviction  that  he  lives  without  hope  and  toils  to 
only  live,  he  seeks  those  low  indulgences,  which  can  stifle  thought 
and  drown  his  feelings  in  oblivion. 

Great  cities  nourish  vice  because  they  conceal  it.  There  is  a  nat 
ural  repugnance  in  all  to  baseness.  It  costs  some  effort  to  eradicate 
shame.  Few,  even  the  worst,  will  venture  to  be  flagitious  in  open 
day.  We  call  crimes,  deeds  of  darkness,  deeds  that  seek  conceal 
ment,  and  lurk  in  corners  ;  and  in  cities  this  concealment  is  easily 
found.  Combinations  of  villainy  may  there  be  formed  and  perfect 
ed.  A  city  is  a  proper  field  for  a  conspiracy.  If  a  nation  is  ruined 
by  a  plot  it  must  be  ruined  there.  It  could  nowhere  else  collect 
and  arrange  its  materials  and  ripen  them  to  execution. 

Great  cities  are  usually  the  arbiters  of  nations.  There  are  ex 
ceptions,  but  they  are  more  seeming  than  real.  Moscow  perished, 
but  Russia  survived.  But  it  was  only  the  skeleton  of  Moscow  that 
perished ;  the  soul  was  living  still.  If  its  citizens  had  quietly  sub 
mitted  to  the  invader,  and  loved  their  homes  better  than  their  na 
tion,  then  Moscow  would  have  indeed  perished,  and  Russia  with 
it.  Athens,  too,  sunk  before  the  fires  of  the  Persian  ;  but  she  was 
living  in  her  fleet,  and  revived  again  with  added  splendor.  But 
where  the  ruin  reaches  the  hearts  of  the  citizens,  where  the  revolu 
tion  is  in  mind  and  not  in  wealth  and  edifices,  then  the  nation  fol 
lows  the  capital.  So  Paris  controlled  tbe  destinies  of  the  French 
nation,  and  every  movement  of  its  populace  was  felt  through  the 
empire. 

A  great  city  is  a  lottery,  where  a  few  great  prizes  are  at  hazard, 
but  disappointment  and  ruin  are  the  lot  of  the  many.  To  be  rich 
and  to  be  famous  are  the  great  objects  of  all  who  aspire.  But  few 
can  possess  immense  wealth,  and  fewer  exalted  fame.  It  is  the  lot 
of  few  indeed  to  be  the  mark  of  public  attention,  to  be  followed  by 
the  gaze  of  the  discerning,  and  pointed  out  by  the  passers  by,  as  one 
who  has  surpassed  the  common  efforts  of  man.  Not  all  who  de 
serve,  gain.  Genius  is  a  tender  plant.  Those  keen,  and  rapid, 
and  susceptible  minds  who  alone  possess  that  gift,  which  kindles 
enthusiasm  in  others,  are  easily  crushed  by  oppression.  They  can 
not  struggle  long,  when  all  is  adverse.  Their  efforts  may  be  des 
perate,  but  their  despair  is  deep,  it  is  fatal.  A  city  if  it  does  not 
cherish  is  the  grave  of  genius.  There  Burns  took  his  death.  There 


APPENDIX.  535 

Chatterton  despaired.  There  Otway  wrote  and  starved.  It  is  lit 
tle  that  the  world  honors  their  ashes.  They  are  men.  They  can 
smile  at  distress  with  the  sure  prospect  of  future  fame ;  but  too 
often  a  dark  cloud  overshadows  them,  and  in  the  deepest  of  their 
calamities  the  consciousness  of  their  own  excellence  abandons 
them. 

But  cities  have  their  advantages.  They  concentrate  talent  and 
excite  it  by  emulation.  Combinations  are  there  easier  formed  and 
strength  better  united.  The  power  that  emanates  from  a  great 
capital  comes  with  added  force.  There  is  something  mysterious 
and  indefinite  in  its  wilderness  of  streets  and  dwellings,  its  swarm 
ing  population  and  its  magnificent  edifices.  There  is  something 
which  we  cannot  measure,  and  which  we  therefore  magnify.  A 
great  empire  should  have  a  great  capital.  It  is  necessary  to  com 
mand  respect.  It  gives  to  authority  a  shrine  where  the  crowd  may 
worship.  A  king  in  a  fortress  would  lose  his  significance.  The 
best  walls  of  tyrants  are  troops  of  corrupted  slaves.  It  is  necessary 
to  employ  and  stifle  the  aspiring  and  the  restless.  They  are  best 
moulded  and  easiest  quelled  beneath  the  eye  of  government.  Thev 
may  be  there  too  best  employed  and  soonest  subdued  by  corrup 
tion.  There  wants  and  temptations  are  greatest.  They  soon  find 
themselves  compelled  to  abandon  their  high  designs  and  cater  for 
their  own  necessities.  They  are  then  for  sale  at  the  highest  bid 
der,  and  a  strong  government  will  always  find  its  interest  in  out 
bidding. 

The  empire  could  not  have  been  advanced  mid  sustained  without 
extending  the  right  of  citizenship.  The  ci  Ly  alone  could  not  con 
quer  the  world.  Like  all  other  conquering  states,  she  made  the 
last  conquered  the  means  of  subduing  the  next.  But  she  could 
not  have  made  them  her  ready  instruments  without  granting  some 
privilege.  She  granted  her  citizenship.  This  gave  them  a  common 
cause.  They  fancied  at  least  that  they  formed  a  part  of  the  repub 
lic,  and  they  fought  for  it  with  a  portion  of  Roman  zeal.  Begin 
ning  from  a  single  point,  that  empire  never  could  have  been 
formed,  if  the  citizenship  had  not  extended  its  influence  through  the 
conquered  nations  and  linked  them  all  to  one  common  head. 

If  what  I  have  said  be  just,  two  great  causes  of  the  ruin  of  that 
empire  were  necessary  to  its  growth  and  continuance.  It  had  the 
cause  of  its  dissolution  in  itself.  Like  the  functions  of  a  living 
body,  which  decay  and  die  by  exercise,  which  have  a  period  of  in- 


536  APPENDIX. 

crease  and  a  period  of  diminution,  that  mighty  empire,  which 
overshadowed  a  continent,  and  embraced  the  whole  circle  of  an 
cient  civilization,  perished  by  the  causes  which  had  raised  it. 

Perhaps  I  owe  an  apology  for  dwelling  so  long  on  so  hackneyed 
a  subject.  Antiquity  has  been  too  often  ransacked  to  leave  much 
that  is  new.  Its  institutions  had  little  affinity  to  ours.  They  were 
formed  on  different  principles,  but  their  elements  were  the  same 
powers  and  the  same  dispositions,  and  their  end  was  the  same. 
Human  nature  has  not  altered  with  years.  Its  laws  are  fixed  and 
invariable.  With  the  same  circumstances  to  affect  it,  we  always 
see  the  same  results.  We  imagine  there  was  a  nobleness,  a  high 
spirit,  a  devotion  in  the  great  men  of  antiquity,  which  modern 
worthies  cannot  boast  of.  Eloquence  is  lavish  on  this  point.  We 
see  the  weakness  as  well  as  the  worth  of  our  contemporaries,  while 
the  mist  of  centuries  gathers  over  ancient  renown,  obscures  its 
faults,  hides  its  deformities,  and  gives  to  its  form  a  gigantic  great 
ness. 

The  ancients  were  unlike  us,  for  they  were  more  the  children  of 
nature.  They  were  governed  more  by  the  impulse  of  feeling,  and 
less  by  the  cool  consideration  of  interest.  They  were  not  so  deeply 
imbued  with  the  commercial  spirit.  They  did  not  so  manage  every 
thing  by  money,  but  they  trusted  more  to  the  generous  excitement 
of  the  moment.  Their  orations  had  more  of  harangue  than  of  argu 
ment  ;  their  philosophy  more  of  musing  and  rhapsody,  than  sober 
thought.  They  had  more  warmth  and  fancy,  less  system  and  de 
tail.  They  owed  much  of  the  triumph  of  their  eloquence  to  their 
quick  and  ardent  temperament,  to  the  deep  interest  of  circumstances, 
and  the  impassioned  and  almost  delirious  manner  of  their  orators. 
These  triumphs  were  not  miracles  ;  they  were  only  the  natural  con 
sequence  of  passionate  spirits  acted  on  by  burning  words,  vehe 
ment  action,  and  an  eye  that  looked  its  thoughts.  They  set  on 
money  a  certain  value,  but  it  was  not  as  now  the  spring  that  moved 
a  nation.  It  was  in  war  a  necessity,  where  mercenaries  were  em 
ployed.  But  they  relied  more  on  the  resources  of  the  enemy's 
country,  and  less  on  the  provisions  of  the  commissariat.  Hence, 
their  movements  were  more  rapid.  Hence,  by  following  their  ex 
ample,  France  gave  for  a  time  the  law  to  Europe.  We  think  they 
had  more  bravery  and  self-denial.  We  look  to  Marathon  as  un 
paralleled  in  modern  times.  But  we  should  remember  that  it  was 
less  the  constant  spirit,  than  the  madness  of  necessity ;  the  last 


APPENDIX.  537 

convulsive  struggles  of  a  people  ready  to  be  overwhelmed :  and  if 
they  conquered,  they  had  all  the  vigor,  all  the  fire,  and  all  the 
combination  on  their  side ;  and  on  the  other  only  a  tumultuous  mass, 
without  discipline  and  without  manhood.  Modern  times  can  set 
off  their  parallels  against  the  great  deeds  of  antiquity.  We  can 
find  a  Marathon  in  Bunker's  Hill,  an  Athens  in  Moscow,  and  a 
Numancia  in  Saragossa.  Perhaps  even  now  the  sons  of  the  Greeks 
are  exerting  an  equal  bravery  against  a  race  of  barbarians  more 
relentless  and  more  cruel.  The  world  is  indeed  presented  with  a 
singular  spectacle.  Christians  are  united  with  Turks  to  murder 
Christians ;  and  this  to  preserve  an  abstract  balance  of  power.  A 
nation  in  fetters,  descended  from  the  nation  that  every  scholar  idol 
izes  and  every  lover  of  freedom  looks  to  as  its  original  father,  that 
nation  is  struggling  to  break  its  yoke  and  assert  its  rights  and  lib 
erties.  They  have  seen  their  brethren  butchered,  tortured,  and  en 
slaved.  They  are  threatened  with  their  own  extermination,  with 
out  a  friendly  power  to  cheer  or  an  ally  to  protect  them ;  and  yet 
against  this  fearful  odds  they  do  not  yield,  but  with  the  spirit  of 
ancient  Athens  devote  themselves  to  liberty  or  death.  There  is  no 
other  alternative.  If  Christian  nations  look  on  unconcerned,  if 
they  aid  their  oppressors  and  thwart  their  generous  efforts  ;  if  free 
nations  move  not  at  their  call ;  what  can  they  expect  but  the  scim 
itar  of  the  Turk  and  the  fate  of  Scio.  They  tell  us  the  Greeks 
have  invited  their  destiny ;  that  they  have  set  the  first  example 
and  given  the  first  blow.  Can  a  people  suffer  for  centuries  and 
not  be  exasperated  ?  Can  they  be  governed  by  unfeeling  barba 
rians  and  not  strive  to  break  their  yoke  ?  And  if  in  the  excite 
ment  they  do  retaliate,  should  we  do  less  ?  Human  nature  cannot 
bear  forever.  Cold  indeed  must  be  the  heart,  and  weak  the  hand, 
that  would  not  revenge  the  deatk  of  a  parent  and  brother,  and  the 
dishonor  and  slavery  of  a  wife  and  sister. 

But  we  are  far  removed  from  the  sight  and  hearing  of  these  enor 
mities.  They  come  to  us  only  as  the  last  echo  of  a  dirge,  or  the 
dying  fall  of  a  tempest.  We  sit  beneath  our  quiet  roofs  and  hear 
the  war  of  the  winds  at  a  distance,  and  as  we  gather  around  our 
cheerful  firesides  we  feel  a  new  pleasure,  that  all  within  is  so 
pleasant,  and  all  without  so  cold  and  stormy.  We  have  between 
us  and  the  age  and  infirmities  of  Europe  a  separating  ocean.  When 
we  left  that  continent  we  cast  away  the  shackles  and  trappings  that 
now  bind  and  burden  the  slave  of  old  establishments.  We  have 
23* 


538  APPENDIX. 

approximated  to  nature,  and  begun  anew  the  race  of  national  ex 
istence.  We  have  begun  it  under  favorable  auspices,  and  with  few 
incumbrances.  We  have  already  done  much,  and  a  bright  vista 
opens  before  us.  Our  fathers  have  embalmed  their  names  in  glory. 
They  have  inscribed  them  on  the  pillars  of  an  empire,  which  is 
now  among  the  widest,  and  which  we  hope  will  rise  the  loftiest. 
We  may  well  indulge  in  fond  anticipations,  with  so  much  already 
achieved  and  with  such  materials  for  future  achievement.  But  we 
shall  not  gain  the  prize  without  high  exertion.  Our  rights  were 
hardly  earned.  They  must  be  strenuously  preserved.  Our  insti 
tutions  were  reared  with  anxious  care,  and  they  will  not  survive 
the  blight  of  negligence.  We  should  not  be  without  our  fears. 
Clouds  are  gathering  in  the  future,  and  there  they  will  gather  and 
deepen,  if  patriotic  energy  hasten  not  and  disperse  them.  In  the 
happiness  of  the  moment,  we  see  nothing  before  us  but  calm  and 
sunshine.  We  indulge  in  the  brightest  visions  of  coming  glory, 
and  we  already  see  our  nation  wreathed  with  valor  and  arts  and 
letters.  We  already  see  it  giving  law  to  Europe  in  taste  and  refine 
ment,  and  sending  back  in  heightened  beauty  the  borrowed  treasures 
of  thought  and  feeling.  But  such  things  cannot  be,  if  we  merely 
sit  still  and  let  the  years  roll  onward.  They  will  not  bring  im 
provement  of  themselves,  and  if  we  do  not  advance,  we  shall  retire. 
There  is  nothing  stationary  in  man.  It  is  the  wise  and  benevolent 
law  of  destiny,  that  we  can  only  secure  and  extend  our  blessings  by 
exertion.  Without  it  all  things  decay. 

Omnla  fatis 
In  pejus  ruere,  ac  retro  sublapsa  referri. 

We  are  not  without  enemies,  who  are  carefully  watching  the  mo 
ment  to  stab  our  liberties.  Machiavelli  has  many  disciples  here  ; 
men  who  will  not  scruple  to  employ  every  growing  evil  of  society, 
as  a  tool  of  corrupt  ambition.  Evils  will  increase,  as  a  nation 
grows  older.  Population  will  advance  with  a  secret  and  silent 
progress.  The  different  ranks  of  society,  for  ranks  are  everywhere, 
will  part  wider  and  wider,  and  become  more  and  more  hostile. 
The  rich  will  concentrate  power,  and  the  middling  class  will  resist 
them.  If  the  poor  have  not  here  a  virtue  which  they  have  never 
had  elsewhere,  they  will  follow  where  corruption  leads,  and  our 
equal  liberties  will  have  ended.  Here  we  must  stand  and  raise  the 
bulwark.  We  must,  if  we  can,  correct  the  tendency  of  the  power- 


APPENDIX.  539 

ful  to  use  their  power  ;  but  more  than  this,  we  must  lift  all  above 
the  wretchedness  of  extreme  poverty,  and  give  the  lower  and  the 
weaker  a  determined  purpose  to  reject  a  bribe  and  resist  encroacu- 
ment.  The  elegant  edifice  needs  the  support  of  a  rustic  basement, 
and  the  polished  ranks  of  society  owe  their  security  to  the  integrity 
of  the  lower. 

Let  us  not  then,  for  any  deceitful  advantage,  be  found  among  the 
ranks  of  those,  who  would  rather  hasten  than  retard  the  inevitable 
progress  of  evil.  Sooner  or  later  it  will  be  felt.  But  we  can,  if  we 
will,  long  defer  the  dreaded  consummation.  Perhaps  we  may  even 
introduce  a  preserving  and  a  renovating  principle,  which  will  give 
to  every  new  age  the  freshness  of  a  brighter  youth.  Our  powers 
are  indeed  limited,  but  their  exact  limits  are  unknown.  Cheered  by 
our  very  ignorance,  we  may  hope,  because  we  do  not  know.  We 
may  anticipate  miracles  and  work  them,  for  there  is  no  strength  like 
that  of  confidence.  Let  us  then,  brethren  of  the  Society,  go  on  in 
the  godlike  purpose  of  securing  and  extending  our  liberties.  We 
cannot  be  better  employed,  for  we  shall  carry  with  us  the  sanction 
of  Heaven. 

"Els  olwvbs  aptoroj,  dp,uvc<rdai  nepi 


Let  us  then  engage  in  the  cause  with  the  spirit  of  a  truly  enlight 
ened  benevolence.  Let  there  be  no  narrow  views  nor  sectarian 
prejudices,  no  party  schemes  nor  local  prepossessions.  Let  truth 
alone  be  our  light  and  reason  our  director.  Let  us  go  on  in  the 
energy  of  sincerity,  and  we  shall  be  hailed  and  cheered  by  every 
philanthropist.  Dark  minds  may  frown  upon  us,  and  base  souls 
may  hate  us  ;  corruption  may  fear  the  light,  and  superstition  trem 
ble  ;  but  the  good  will  rejoice,  and  humanity  be  glad  in  our  labors. 


540  APPENDIX. 

APPENDIX  C. 

(PAGE  152.) 
SPECIMENS  OF  EDITORIALS. 

THE   THEATRE. 

WE  have  no  theatres  in  Connecticut,  and  we  therefore  cannot 
feel  the  same  interest  in  dramatic  controversies  as  those 
who  are  present  and  engaged  in  the  contest.  We  allude  to  the 
late  excitement  in  Boston  on  the  subject  of  a  well-known  prosecu 
tion.  We  have  little  experience  in  the  details  of  the  dramatic  art, 
and  can  only  judge  of  the  merits  of  a  performer  by  our  native 
feelings  and  the  general  principles  of  criticism,  so  far  as  we  under 
stand  them.  We  have  seen  the  actor,  who  has  been  the  subject  of 
the  late  Boston  controversy,  only  once,  and  we  do  not  wish  to  pro 
nounce  a  decided  judgment  on  his  merits  in  his  own  peculiar  way. 
We  rather  give  our  attention  at  present  to  the  general  value  of  the 
drama  as  a  moral  means  of  forming  the  public  character,  and  to 
the  comparative  power  of  its  different  departments  in  acting  on  the 
taste  and  feelings  of  an  audience.  Theatrical  performances  have 
been  entirely  forbidden  in  this  State ;  and  this  law  has  been  consid 
ered  the  result  of  the  Puritanic  spirit  which  we  have  inherited  from 
our  fathers.  There  was  a  time  when  theatres  were  allowed  here ;  but 
they  evidently  had  then  an  evil  tendency ;  for  the  feelings  of  the 
better  classes  were  against  them,  and  they  were  obliged  to  draw  for 
their  support  chiefly  on  those  who  had  the  least  of  knowledge  and 
refinement ;  consequently,  the  performances  were  for  the  most  part 
worthless.  We  believe  the  mischief  of  theatres  arises  in  a  good 
degree  from  the  necessity  of  gratifying  the  gross  tastes  and  cor 
rupt  appetites  of  the  many.  The  managers  must  make  them  a 
profitable  concern  ;  they  must  fill  their  houses ;  and  to  do  this, 
they  must  attract  the  gods,  as  cant  calls  them,  to  the  upper  regions, 
by  smut  and  buffoonery.  If  a  select  theatre  could  be  established, 
where  nothing  could  be  admitted  but  the  masterpieces  of  the 
drama,  it  would  not  only  be  a  school  of  taste,  but  a  moral  engine 
of  no  trifling  power. 


APPENDIX.  541 

The  theatre  was  the  great  public  school  of  the  ancients  :  it  held 
the  place  of  the  modern  pulpit.  Even  now,  among  the  Catholics 
of  the  south  of  Europe,  the  dramatic  art  is  employed  in  the  service 
of  religion;  and  their  mysteries  are  designed,  though  very  injudi 
ciously,  to  begin  the  work  of  reformation,  which  is  to  be  finished 
in  the  sanctuary.  The  dramas  of  the  ancients  were  morality, 
speaking,  and  acting.  The  plots  were  simple,  the  incidents  few, 
and  little  calculated  to  please  for  their  own  sake,  or  to  fasten  the 
attention  on  the  chain  of  the  story,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  beau 
ties  of  thought  and  language,  and  the  moral  reflections,  on  which 
the  mind  of  the  author  seemed  more  particularly  to  dwell.  Their 
tragic  poets  and  their  refined  comedians,  instead  of  collecting 
together  a  distracting  assemblage  of  uncommon  scenes  and  inci 
dents,  labored  on  the  structure  of  their  language,  the  choice  of 
their  images  and  sentiments,  the  harmony  of  their  characters,  and 
the  union  of  all  the  parts  into  one  perfect  whole.  They  took  a 
lofty  stand,  and  they  maintained  it.  They  did  not  come  down  to 
play  with  the  trifles  of  our  older  poets ;  they  did  not  blend  low 
comedy  with  deep  tragedy,  nor  disturb  the  high  emotions  they  had 
called  up,  nor  the  beautiful  sympathies  they  had  awakened,  by  in 
troducing  characters  taken  from  Imman  nature  in  its  meanest  forms 
and  most  revolting  appearances.  This  was  not  actual  life,  at  least 
not  such  life  as  meets  us  every  day ;  but  it  was  something  which 
had  its  soiirce  in  the  nature  of  man,  and  which  might  be,  and  has 
been,  called  out  under  the  influence  of  uncommon  circumstances. 
The  Prometheus  of  ,ZEschylus  would  meet  but  a  sorry  reception 
on  a  modern  stage,  even  if  its  mythology  were  changed  for  a  creed 
and  a  system  more  nearly  allied  to  present  notions.  But  what  can 
be  grander  to  the  initiated  mind,  to  the  understanding  which  has 
entered  the  shrine  of  those  early  mysteries,  and  the  heart  which 
has  learned  to  sympathize  with  the  emotions  of  a  loftier  existence  ? 
We  are  there  presented  with  the  character  of  a  firm  and  unyield 
ing  martyr,  —  the  tenderest  benevolence  for  the  weak  and  the  suf 
fering,  and  the  keenest  indignation  and  the  boldest  defiance  against 
the  powerfully  wicked.  To  a  mind,  who  can  once  realize  the  my 
thology,  and  feel  as  a  believer  would  feel,  there  is  an  interest  deep 
at  the  very  opening,  and  deepening  as  the  action  advances,  without 
anything  to  divert  the  attention,  or  derange  the  fine  structure  of 
sympathy  which  the  poet  is  forming  within  us.  Insensible  to  his 
own  calamities,  when  the  injustice  of  his  oppressors,  and  the 


542  APPENDIX. 

wretchedness  of  the  beings  he  had  sought  to  relieve,  is  before  him, 
—  ready  to  comfort  others,  while  he  rejects  the  sympathy  of  friends 
who  can  give  him  no  other  aid,  —  yielding  to  pain  only  in  moments 
of  solitude ;  and  even  led  by  his  pain  to  renewed  resistance ;  we 
have  before  us  that  inflexible  but  feeling  spirit,  which  gave  a  sanc 
tity  to  the  dying  martyr.  Such  dramas  would  not  succeed  here, 
because  they  are  not  life  in  its  more  usual  appearances ;  but  such 
a  drama,  adapted  to  the  religion,  the  feelings,  and  knowledge  of  the 
present  age,  would,  I  have  no  doubt,  find  among  the  more  imagi 
native  the  most  enthusiastic  reception ;  and  it  might  be  made  to 
awaken  all  our  best  affections,  to  enliven  the  dormant  seeds  of  great 
and  lofty  purposes,  and  to  do  more  to  quicken  one  in  the  way  to 
the  only  true  excellence,  than  a  whole  library  of  cold  and  heartless 
dissertations. 

In  our  opinion,  the  comic  scenes  in  the  tragedies  of  Shakespeare 
are  blemishes  in  their  acting.  We  have  often  felt  a  painful  revul 
sion,  when  our  attention  was  called  off  from  the  high-wrought 
scenes  we  had  been  passing  through,  to  the  pranks  of  the  witches 
and  the  sorry  trick  of  the  grave-digger's  jackets.  These  are  not 
so  much  the  fault  of  the  poet,  as  of  the  managers,  or  rather  of  the 
public  taste  which  demands  them.  We  are  told  they  are  necessary 
to  keep  the  crowd  in  humor.  It  is  a  misfortune  that  the  crowd 
were  ever  allowed  to  force  aside  the  inspiration  of  such  an  author 
into  so  unworthy  a  channel ;  and  still  more  so,  that  they  should  be 
allowed  to  make  what  is  bad,  worse  in  the  acting.  Taking  it  as  it 
is  written,  there  is  nothing  in  the  machinery  of  the  witches  which 
need  to  be  low  and  disgusting.  Their  charms  are  fantastic,  but 
they  were  awful  in  their  day.  They  must  have  had  a  power  to 
chill  the  blood  of  those  who  had  the  belief  necessary  to  be  acted 
on  by  them.  Put  them  in  the  mouth  of  a  Norna,  and  they  would 
be  still  words  of  power.  Let  us  only  exchange  the  foul  tatters,  the 
ugly  vizards,  the  tottering  decrepitude,  and  the  laughable  tricks  of 
our  modern  witches,  for  a  female,  majestic  in  her  decay,  proud  and 
dignified  in  her  action,  solemn  in  her  tones,  and  decent  in  her  cos 
tume,  not  in  rags,  but  in  the  mysterious  yet  elegant  dress  of  a  sor 
ceress  ;  and  the  effect  on  every  well-tuned  mind  would  be  tenfold  ; 
it  would  be  changed  from  disgust  to  awe.  But  Shakespeare,  in  ac 
commodating  himself  to  the  taste  of  the  age,  departed  from  the 
truth  of  tradition.  The  females  who  met  Macbeth  on  the  blasted 
heath  were  not  witches  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word ;  they 


APPENDIX.  543 

were  Destinies  of  the  North,  the  Goddesses  of  Fate  and  Death. 
They  were  represented  as  gigantic  females  of  a  dark  and  awful 
beauty,  moving  through  the  air  with  the  swiftness  of  spirits,  or 
speeding  on  horseback  alike  over  the  earth  and  the  ocean.  Like 
the  eagles,  where  the  battle  was,  there  they  were.  It  was  their 
office  to  ride  with  drawn  swords  through  the  ranks  to  select  such 
as  were  doomed  to  fall,  and  carry  them  away  to  the  hall  of  Odin ; 
for  it  was  a  part  of  their  warlike  religion,  that  all  who  fell  in  battle 
were  chosen  to  happiness ;  as  the  ancients  said, 

"  Whom  the  gods  love,  die  young." 

Three  of  these  fatal  Sisters  were  supposed  to  have  met  Macbeth  on 
the  heath,  and  to  have  foretold  his  elevation  and  his  fall.  In  the 
ideal  Macbeth,  we  would  strike  out  the  vulgarity  of  the  witches 
and  the  smut  of  the  porter.  We  would  substitute  for  the  former 
the  awful  Destinies  of  the  North  or  the  mysterious  sorceress  of  a 
later  age.  There  would  then  be  nothing  to  divert  the  attention 
from  the  grand  flow  of  excitement  which  is  otherwise  so  well  sus 
tained  ;  and  human  sympathies  would  be  harmoniously  blended 
with  the  marvellous.  But  this  would  not  suit  the  popular  taste,  if 
such  a  word  as  taste  can  be  so  meanly  applied.  This  may  be  very 
true,  and  therefore  the  theatre  must  always  be  a  place  from  which 
finer  and  better  minds  will  often  turn  away  with  disgust.  There 
are  theatres  in  Paris  where  nothing  low  is  admitted,  where  none 
but  the  best  pieces  are  performed,  and  where  the  audience  are  col 
lected  not  to  stare  at  the  wonderful  and  laugh  at  the  ridiculous,  but 
to  indulge  in  a  "  feast  of  reason  and  a  flow  of  soul."  This  we 
would  call  the  ideal  theatre,  and  we  would  consider  it  the  surest 
test  that  there  was  a  powerful  body  of  correct  taste  and  pure  feeling 
in  a  city,  if  such  a  theatre  could  be  supported  there.  We  have  no 
objections  to  farce,  harlequin,  and  mimicry ;  but  we  wish  them  con 
fined  within  their  proper  sphere,  not  blended  in  the  same  piece  or 
the  same  entertainment  with  the  highest  efforts  of  the  tragic  Muse. 
We  would  have  this  our  favorite  theatre  open  only  to  the  higher 
tragedy,  such  as  awakens  our  noblest  and  most  powerful  feelings  ; 
to  the  tenderer  tragedy,  and  those  scenes  of  sorrow  which  are  ter 
minated  by  a  bright  catastrophe  (the  tragedie  lourgeoise  and  comedie 
larmoyante  of  the  French) ;  and  to  the  genteel  comedy.  All  below 
these  should  be  sacredly  proscribed,  and  denied  all  manner  of  en 
trance.  There  should  be  nothing  admitted  that  would  gratify  a 


544  APPENDIX. 

single  malignant  feeling,  draw  forth  a  single  burst  of  laughter,  or 
cause  the  slightest  blush.  The  audience  should  wonder,  and  glow, 
and  weep,  and  smile,  as  the  poet  or  the  actor  called  up  this  or  that 
passion ;  but  none  should  go  away  with  a  heart  corrupted  or  a 
mind  debased.  The  understanding,  the  passions,  and  the  senses 
would  there  unite  to  produce  one  grand  enchantment.  It  would 
not  be  an  anmsement  to  wear  away  the  time,  but  it  would  be  an 
exercise  that  would  employ  our  very  best  faculties. 

To  be  a  great  actor  on  such  a  stage  would  be  an  honor  indeed. 
With  such  authors  and  such  actors,  who  would  say  that  the  theatre 
might  not  be  employed  to  accomplish  the  very  best  moral  purposes  ? 


Perhaps  there  is  no  subject  on  which  so  much  vague  language 
and  unmeaning  declamation  is  allowed  as  that  of  Genius.  It  is 
considered  by  most  as  a  peculiar  gift  from  some  higher  being, 
which,  according  to  the  piety  of  the  individual  defining  it,  is  either 
Deity  or  Nature.  It  is  supposed  to  be  an  endowment  apart  from 
our  ordinary  faculties,  a  certain  controlling  faculty  by  itself,  which 
presides  over  and  moulds  all  the  others  to  its  purposes.  "We  very 
often  hear  them  tell  of  genius  soaring  like  an  eagle,  and  leav 
ing  the  common  track  of  the  human  faculties,  to  visit  regions 
which  are  accessible  only  to  beings  of  a  higher  order.  This  will 
all  do  very  well  for  declamation ;  but,  to  say  the  least,  it  is  very 
unphilosophical  language.  Wo  have  no  hesitation  in  saying,  that 
genius  is  not  a  separate  quality  of  the  mind,  but  only  a  peculiar 
state  of  all  the  faculties  composing  it ;  or,  to  use  language  more 
satisfactory  to  ourselves,  a  peculiar  constitution  of  the  mind,  by 
which  certain  of  its  operations  are  conducted  with  unusual  facility 
and  power.  There  is  a  genius  for  almost  every  pursuit.  There  is 
a  genius  for  the  arts,  for  poetry,  and  for  eloquence ;  a  mechanical 
and  a  philosophical  genius.  This  only  means,  that  the  person  pos 
sessing  it  is  capable  of  attaining  to  uncommon  excellence  in  his 
particular  province.  There  are  some  who  are  called  universal  ge 
niuses  ;  this  only  means,  that  such  minds  are  endowed  with  a  flex 
ibility  which  enables  them  to  pass  with  readiness  from  one  operation 
to  another,  and  in  all,  to  surpass  common  efforts.  Genius  was  de 
fined  by  Dr.  Dwight,  "  the  power  of  making  unusual  mental 
efforts,"  — by  John  Duncan,  "  the  power  of  bringing  the  greatest 


APPENDIX.  545 

number  of  particulars  to  bear  on  one  point,  and  inversely  of  de 
ducing  the  greatest  number  of  particulars  from  one  point "  ;  or,  in 
other  words,  superior  comprehension.  This,  however,  applies  more 
particularly  to  philosophical  geniuses.  We  would  define  poetical 
genius,  —  a  peculiarly  excited  and  impassioned  state  of  the  mind, 
accompanied  with  nice  sensibility  and  rapid  associations,  by  which 
it  is  fitted  to  call  up  and  unite  together  the  materials  of  imagery 
in  such  a  manner  as  shall  give  to  the  reader  the  most  complete  and 
commanding  sense  of  reality.  „ 

CHARACTER  OF   BONAPARTE. 

There  has  been  much  contention  in  the  newspapers  respecting 
the  character  of  Bonaparte,  and  the  degree  of  credit  to  be  given  to 
his  anecdotists,  O'Meara  and  Las  Casas.  Opinions  seem  to  have 
differed  as  widely  on  this  subject  as  they  ever  did  in  the  height  of 
his  power.  Some  have  given  full  credit  to  his  own  professions  of 
disinterested  benevolence  ;  and  they  really  seem  to  believe  that  the 
great  object  of  all  his  efforts  was  the  deliverance  of  Europe,  and 
the  world  to  boot,  from  the  overgrown  abuses  of  centuries.  There 
is  another  class,  who  are  not  at  all  disposed  to  rank  him  a  whit 
above  the  common  herd  of  conquerors ;  they  believe,  that  like  all 
ambitious  men,  his  immediate  object  was  personal  aggrandizement, 
and  that  if  he  ever  did  engage  in  more  benevolent  labors,  it  was 
only  in  the  way  of  an  interlude,  and  as  a  set-off  to  the  darker  parts 
of  his  character.  It  is  not  our  intention  to  decide  on  the  natural 
qualities  of  his  heart  or  the  powers  of  his  understanding.  There 
is  good  reason  for  believing  that  he  had  enough  of  mildness  and 
pleasantness  of  temper,  to  secure  the  affections  of  those  immediate 
ly  about  his  person  ;•  and  he  certainly  had  the  art  of  winning  the 
attachment  of  his  soldiers.  There  can  no  longer  be  any  question 
of  the  greatness  of  his  talents.  He  has  given  too  practical  an  il 
lustration  of  his  energy,  his  comprehension,  and  his  cunning,  ever 
to  permit  a  doubt  of  the  greatness  of  his  mind.  The  only  question 
on  which  there  will  probably  be  a  wide  difference  of  opinion,  is,  as 
to  the  ultimate  aim  of  his  efforts,  —  whether  he  was,  like  the  con 
querors  who  had  gone  before  him,  actuated  by  selfish  motives  and 
love  of  power  and  glory  ;  or  whether  he  was  in  pursuit  of  certain 
great  plans  of  political  improvement ;  and  that,  when  he  had  re 
moved  by  force  every  existing  obstacle,  his  intention  was  to  restore 

ii 


546  APPENDIX. 

society  to  its  primitive  simplicity,  and  to  place  it  on  such  a  firm 
and  equal  basis,  that  the  usurpations  which  he  found  in  Europe 
could  not  again  be  restored.  Such  things  might  have  glanced 
across  his  mind,  amid  the  crowd  of  great  plans  which  he  had  cher 
ished  there ;  and  he  might  have  thought  it  a  grand  result  to  reign 
over  Europe  as  a  protecting  spirit ;  and  while  he  left  all  below  him 
equal,  and  allowed  no  other  distinction  but  merit,  to  preside  him 
self  over  the  public  destinies,  and  be  to  them  little  less  than  a  pres 
ent  god.  We  can  conceive  such  a  consummation  of  his  military 
labors,  and  we  can  more  readily  allow  him  the  credit  of  such  an  in 
tention,  since  it  has  been  a  favorite  amusement  with  such  conquer 
ors  to  abdicate  their  external  authority,  and  still  continue  to  rule 
in  the  fears  of  their  subjects.  We  have  three  memorable  examples 
of  this,  in  Sylla,  Diocletian,  and  Charles  the  Fifth.  They  were 
not  the  less  emperors  and  dictators  because  they  shut  themselves 
up  in  retirement ;  they  still  retained  a  fast  hold  on  their  power ; 
and  if  things  had  not  moved  as  pleased  them,  they  would  have 
started  up  and  been  "  themselves  again."  The  return  of  Bonaparte 
from  Elba  was  a  striking  example  of  the  power  of  a  name  ;  he  had 
planted  his  authority  deep  in  the  hearts  of  his  soldiers  and  of  a 
large  part  of  the  nation.  There  seemed  to  be  a  magic  influence, 
v  hich  drew  all  beneath  him,  as  if  there  had  been  a  sympathy  be 
tween  his  own  fortunes  and  those  of  the  nation.  It  might  not  be 
very  difficult  to  analyze  this  wonderful  movement,  and  to  show 
how  much  national  pride  and  self-interest  were  concerned  in  bring 
ing  him  back  so  triumphantly  to  Paris.  It  is  sufficient  that  there 
may  be  power  without  arms,  and  without  love  too  ;  for  if  we  must 
allow,  that  the  French  did  love  their  Emperor,  yet  no  one  would 
say  that  the  Romans  had  a  hearty  love  for  one  like  Sylla,  who  had 
too  much  of  Robespierre  in  his  character  to  be  regarded  with  any 
other  feeling  than  horror ;  and  yet  we  must  acknowledge  that  his 
power  did  not  end  with  his  abdication  ;  for  if  it  had,  he  would  not 
have  been  suffered  to  live  so  quietly  amid  the  monuments  of  his 
murders.  There  was  a  secret  authority  hovering  about  him,  which 
as  effectually  secured  him  as  if  he  had  been  protected  by  a  legion. 
We  have  often  been  told,  that  it  was  the  aim  of  Bonaparte  to 
sweep  off  all  political  abuses  from  the  surface  of  Europe.  His  ad 
vocates  point  to  his  code,  his  public  works,  and  his  patronage  of 
the  arts  and  sciences.  He  undoubtedly  did  many  things  there,  to 
be  had  in  grateful  remembrance.  There  was  a  restless  energy 


APPENDIX.  547 

about  him,  which  would  not  suffer  others  to  be  idle.  His  subjects 
had  to  work  hard,  but  they  were  fed  and  paid.  There  was  little 
room  for  beggars  under  his  authority.  Indeed,  he  went  far  towards 
realizing  the  maximum  of  human  production  and  expenditure.  But 
all  this  had  one  fixed  purpose,  the  increase  of  the  materiel  of  his 
ambition.  He  strained  every  nerve  and  every  muscle  of  his  em 
pire  to  furnish  the  means  of  conquest;  and  he  went  on,  adding 
state  to  state,  and  kingdom  to  kingdom,  till,  in  his  own  language, 
he  came  so  near  realizing  an  universal  empire,  that  he  could  not 
but  wish  to  complete  it.  If  he  had  broken  down  every  government 
that  opposed  him  ;  if  he  had  humbled  Russia  and  levelled  England, 
would  he  have  really  set  about  consolidating  one  universal  repub 
lic  ?  or  would  he  not,  in  his  unconquerable  restlessness,  have  rather 
followed  the  example  of  Alexander,  and  sighed  for  new  worlds  to 
conquer  ?  Would  he  not  have  persisted,  too,  in  retaining  his  own 
supreme  authority,  and  endeavored  to  realize  the  patriarchal  gov 
ernment  of  China,  where  all  should  be  equally  his  children,  but 
himself  their  absolute  father?  And  if  he  did  retain  his  place, 
would  he  have  been  willing  to  take  the  crowns  from  the  heads  of 
his  family,  and  reduce  them  to  the  condition  of  private  citizens  ? 
Would  he  have  restored  the  wealth  which  he  had  accumulated  in 
his  and  their  coffers,  to  the  public  treasury,  and  been  content  to 
imitate  the  magnanimous  poverty  of  Cincinnatus  ?  Would  he  have 
dismissed  his  guards  and  gens-d'armes,  and  demolished  his  bastiles  ? 
In  fine,  would  he  have  thrown  away  "  the  pomp  and  circumstance  " 
of  military  sovereignty,  which  he  had  gathered  around  him  to  a 
degree  truly  Oriental,  and  been  content  to  appear,  like  Washington 
among  his  unarmed  citizens,  in  a  plain  black  suit  ?  Would  he  not 
rather  have  retained  all  the  wealth  and  splendor,  all  the  soldiers 
and  artillery,  with  which  he  was  accustomed  to  surround  his  pal 
ace  ?  And  might  he  not,  like  Cromwell,  have  grown  suspicious  as 
he  grew  older,  and  have  wasted  the  energy  which  he  once  employed 
in  battles  and  sieges,  in  detecting  and  punishing  plots  ?  Might  he 
not  have  left  the  high  flight  of  the  eagle,  with  which  he  had  so  long 
swept  over  the  continent,  and  stooped  to  such  a  vulture's  meal  as 
suited  the  appetite  of  Robespierre  ?  Such  has  been  the  usual  ter 
mination  of  tyranny  and  conquest,  with  a  few  solitary  exceptions. 
We  are  indeed  told  of  the  clemency  of  Caesar ;  but  if  he  had  only 
escaped  the  daggers  of  his  assassins,  might  not  his  seeming  char 
acter  have  been  changed,  and  might  he  not  have  been  as  relentless 


54^  APPENDIX. 

and  unsparing  as  tne  worst  of  his  successors  ?  It  is  dangerous  to 
accumulate  power  in  the  hands  of  a  single  man.  The  hest  and  the 
greatest  are  too  frail  to  bear  the  burden  meekly;  and  instead  of 
wishing  that  another  one  may  rise,  and  hold,  like  him,  the  reins  of 
all  Europe,  we  ought  rather  to  pray,  that  the  governments  now  ex 
isting  may  preserve  a  distinct  and  individual  existence.  Let  them 
be  cautious,  too,  how  they  correct  abuses  by  the  sword.  It  is  a 
good  instrument  of  destruction,  but  a  bad  one  of  amendment. 
Better  to  retain  a  portion  of  present  evils,  than  to  wash  them  away 
by  a  deluge  of  blood. 


APPENDIX  D. 

(PAGE  246.) 

FROM  THE  KNICKERBOCKER  MAGAZINE,  VOL.  VII. 
A  PHILOSOPHER. 

I  HAD  travelled  several  hours  in  a  stage,  'on  a  cold  winter's 
day,  with  an  individual  who  had  observed  an  entire  silence. 
Wrapped  in  his  cloak,  nothing  was  visible  but  a  large  eye  and  a 
high  forehead.  In  the  evening,  as  we  stopped  for  the  night,  I  had  an 
opportunity  of  observing  him  more  definitely.  With  a  person 
rather  tall  and  slender  were  combined  thin  and  attenuated  features, 
and  an  expression  at  once  sensitive,  thoughtful,  and  benevolent. 
The  whole,  however,  seemed  to  be  shrouded  by  an  abiding  feeling 
of  melancholy  and  regret;  not  that  which  arises  from  mere  per 
sonal  disappointment  or  unhappiness,  but  rather  the  sadness  of  a 
philosopher,  who  has  formed  an  ideal  scheme  of  general  well-being, 
and  has  at  last  found,  by  too  convincing  experience,  that  in  this 
bad  world  it  is  utterly  impracticable.  During  the  evening,  he  ob 
served  the  same  silence,  and  seemed  carefully  to  avoid  engaging  in 
the  different  subjects  of  conversation  that  were  just  started  and 
then  abandoned.  If  his  tongue  was  silent,  his  eye  was  not  in 
active.  With  deep  and  rapid  glances,  he  ran  over  the  individuals 


APPENDIX.  549 

before  him,  and  seemed  instantly  to  read  their  characters.  All  the 
other  members  of  the  party  had  retired,  and  left  us  alone  at  a  very 
comfortable  fireside.  Still,  he  did  not  address  me.  Unwilling  to 
part  with  one  who  seemed  so  peculiar,  I  ventured  to  remark,  that 
the  weather  was  unusually  severe  for  the  season. 

"  Yes,  but  it  will  be  succeeded  by  weather  as  unusually  mild. 
The  principle  of  compensation  is  at  work  with  our  climate.  A 
turn  of  very  cold  weather  is  quite  sure  to  be  followed  by  the 
reverse.  The  long  steady  winters  of  old  times  are  at  an  end." 

"  And  what  cause  would  you  assign  for  the  change  ?  " 

"  Our  business,  as  men  of  science,  is  not  first  with  causes.  We 
must  observe  and  collect  facts,  compare  and  arrange  them,  and 
then  perhaps  we  may  discover  causes.  If  we  do  not,  a  body  of 
facts,  methodically  arranged,  is  a  science,  and  as  such  capable  of 
the  most  useful  application.  But  our  philosophers  and  men  of 
science,  so  called,  are  continually  hastening  back  to  first  causes. 
They  mistake  hypotheses  for  conclusions,  and  so  involve  them 
selves,  and  all  who  follow  their  dicta,  in  a  false  light,  which  is  but 
darkness." 

"  But  these  remarks  rather  apply  to  physical  investigations  than 
to  moral." 

"  Equally  to  all.  Impatience  of  prolonged  research,  incapacity 
for  extended  views,  and  an  eagerness  to  arrive  at  some  final  conclu 
sion,  however  hasty  or  insufficient,  are  the  prevailing  characteristics 
of  minds  that  pretend  to  investigate.  Men  will  act,  and  act  ac 
cording  to  their  immediate  views  ;  and  hence  the  true  philosopher, 
who  extends  his  plans  through  all  space  and  time,  is  met  at  every 
turn  by  obstacles,  small  indeed  in  themselves,  but  all  combined, 
like  the  cords  of  the  Liliputians,  completely  fettering  his  purposes. 
It  is  in  vain  to  do  more  than  palliate,  and  that  slightly,  the  evils 
of  society." 

"  But  would  you,  therefore,  because  you  cannot  eradicate  the  dis 
ease,  refuse  all  assistance  7  " 

"  Certainly  not.  The  great  principle  of  existence  is  action  ;  and 
this  action,  in  sentient  creatures,  will  always  be  directed  to  the  at 
tainment  of  well-being,  with  the  unreflecting  or  the  unprinci 
pled,  to  the  momentary  and  the  selfish,  with  more  enlarged,  more 
considerate,  and  better  balanced  natures,  to  the  common  and  the 
enduring.  But  act  we  must,  or  we  shall  be  annihilated  among  the 
forces  that  act  around  and  against  us.  And  here  is  one  great 


550  APPENDIX. 

source  of  the  accumulation  of  evil.  Wrong  action  has  brought 
evil  to  a  head,  and  induced  an  overwhelming  calamity.  A  cause, 
reflection,  combination,  and  then  renewed  action,  in  a  truer  and 
better  direction,  would  not  only  prevent  the  recurrence  of  calamity, 
but  tend  to  a  positive  accumulation  of  good ;  yet  the  necessity  of 
immediate  action  urges  on  to  commence  at  once  the  old  career  in 
the  old  way,  and  we  arrive  at  the  point  before  gained,  or  far  tran 
scend  it,  and  so  prepare  for  a  more  fatal  catastrophe." 

"  But  does  not  all  this  tend  to  increased  activity  ?  Is  not  the  very 
necessity  of  remedying  evil  in  itself  a  good  ?  " 

'  If  we  were  made  only  to  overcome  difficulties  and  obstacles  by 
exertion,  then  a  life  of  storms  and  disasters  might  be  the  most 
desirable,  as  most  conducive  to  activity.  But  we  are  formed  with 
natures,  at  least  some  of  us  are  so  formed,  which  can  use  and  en 
joy  positive  good,  — intellectual  and  moral  good ;  and  how  painful, 
to  one  imbued  with  the  feeling  of  such  good,  to  see  human  effort 
all  wasted  in  a  region  below  it." 

"  But  are  all  capable  of  realizing  or  enjoying  such  good  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not,  —  certainly  not  all  equally ;  but  the  attachment 
of  the  great  body  to  other  good,  and  their  perverted  activity  in 
pursuit  of  it,  thwart  and  render  almost  inefficient  the  efforts  of 
higher  natures  to  secure  the  good  they  desire.  Still,  the  mind  is  a 
kingdom  to  itself,  and  it  is  better  to  stand  aloof  on  the  cold  and 
bare  rocks,  in  the  sunshine,  than  to  descend  to  the  plain,  and 
mingle  in  the  smoke  and  dust  of  the  rushing  conflict,  though  the 
prize  may  be  an  empire." 

"  Is  it  not  better  to  follow  in  the  train,  and  extend  relief  to  the 
sufferers  left  behind  in  the  strife  ?  " 

"  Here  we  come  again  to  the  hopeless  task  of  palliating  evil,  blow 
ing  with  a  fan  against  the  blast  of  a  whirlwind.  We  may  so  pro 
cure  to  ourselves  the  highest  moral  good,  in  the  consciousness  of 
having  done  our  best  to  relieve  the  sufferings  of  others ;  but  when 
we  think  how  little  good  we  have  imparted,  how  easily  and  in 
stantaneously  the  immense  flood  of  evil  may  annihilate  it,  the 
light  that  dawned  in  our  hearts  is  darkened,  and  we  sink  beneath 
the  feeling  of  our  inefficiency.  Not  in  the  train  should  be  the 
place  of  him  who  aims  at  the  accomplishment  of  great  and  real 
good,  but  in  the  van,  as  a  herald  of  peace  between  the  contending 
forces.  Evil  must  be  prevented  in  its  causes,  not  palliated  in  its 
effects." 


APPENDIX.  551 

Here  he  raised  himself  up,  with  the  air  of  an  inspired  prophet, 
and  while  his  eye  glowed  and  his  features  were  as  if  radiant  with 
inward  brightness,  he  gave  utterance,  in  a  voice  of  fittest  intona 
tion,  to  his  pure  and  high  emotions. 

"  True  we  were  born  to  act,  but  still  more  were  we  born  to  think 
and  feel.  Only  from  the  bright  and  holy  fountain  of  certain 
thought  and  elevated  feeling  flows  the  stream  of  just  and  benefi 
cent  action.  Flowing  ever  the  same,  from  a  perennial  spring,  it 
diffuses  life  and  beauty  along  its  borders.  But  action,  proceeding 
from  another  source,  is  like  the  wasting  flood  that  bursts  in  the  mid 
night  darkness,  and  blindly  sweeps  away  the  wrecks  of  the  valley, 
to  accumulate  them  in  this  unwholesome  marsh.  We  have  a 
higher  nature  within  us,  governed  by  its  own  peculiar  laws,  fixed 
and  immutable  as  the  laws  that  control  the  spheres.  If  these  laws 
are  not  counteracted  by  the  lower  principles  of  our  being,  if  in 
harmonious  accordance  all  our  better  powers  move  on  in  their 
proper  orbit,  then  there  results  inward  calm  and  strength,  outward 
dignity  and  power.  The  ruling  principles  here  prevail,  —  Truth, 
Goodness,  and  Beauty.  And  although  these  have  each  its  peculiar 
character,  and  are  directed  to  peculiar  corresponding  points  in  our 
own  being,  yet  they  proceed  from  one  common  source,  —  emphati 
cally  the  One.  Hence  they  are  throughout  harmonious,  and  no 
mind  is  brought  to  a  due  celestial  temper  in  which  they  are  not 
equally  combined  and  active.  As  well  might  wings  rise  without 
dome,  or  dome  without  wings,  to  form  a  complete  edifice,  as  a 
mind  exist  in  perfect  panoply,  without  the  sense  of  good  or  the 
feeling  of  beauty ;  and,  however  intense  either  might  be,  without 
that  full  perception  of  the  true,  that  embraces  and  thus  forms  a 
whole,  action  would  only  deviate  into  error.  But  I  speak  accord 
ing  to  the  manner  of  men,  for  the  three  are,  in  fact,  immutable  and 
inseparable.  If  not  equally  combined  into  a  symmetrical  whole, 
then  a  counterfeit  has  assumed  their  sacred  names,  and  under  the 
garb  of  sanctity  an  imposter  walks  forth.  Are  these  merely  ab 
stract  words,  or  living,  applicable  realities'?  Has  not  the  world 
been  long  deceived  by  these  counterfeits,  which,  under  the  sacred 
names  of  Philosophy,  Religion,  and  Poetry,  have  claimed  the  ad 
miration  or  controlled  the  conduct  of  society,  and  that  to  ex- 
tremest  evil,  rejecting  each  the  other  as  false  or  inane  ?  But  the 
philosophy  that  scouts  the  good  or  despises  the  fair  is  not  the 
herald  of  the  true ;  it  is  but  a  charlatan,  that  retails  the  poor  dog- 


552  APPENDIX. 

mas  of  a  temporary  expediency,  not  the  sage  that  propounds  laws 
of  eternal  duration.  Nor  is  the  religion  that  discards  the  light  of 
reason  the  holy  light  that  irradiates  the  divine  temple,  as  good 
ness  is  the  altar-fire  that  warms  it,  and  beauty  the  incense-clouds 
that  embellish  it,  or  that  rejects  the  gentle  and  lovely  as  too  soft 
for  its  sternness ;  —  is  such  religion  other  than  a  hypocrite,  that  un 
der  a  solemn  mask  conceals  darkness  and  deformity  ?  Poetry,  in 
which  beauty  is  not  wedded  to  the  good  and  the  true,  is  but  a 
dangerous  and  deceitful  siren.  In  the  stillness  of  the  night,  lis 
ten  not  to  its  enticing  but  effeminate  strains,  as  they  float  over 
smooth  silvery  waters  or  through  flowery  thickets  or  groves  of 
gloom !  Look  up  to  the  open  sky,  and  the  unchanging  stars,  and 
through  them  to  the  one  great  Light  that  shines  in  the  zenith  of  all, 
and  you  will  hear  a  music,  sweeter  even  than  that  of  the  spheres, 
as  evolving  from  the  power  that  rules  the  spheres,  proclaiming  in 
tones  of  fullest  and  completest  harmony  the  one  great  principle  of 
our  intellectual  and  moral  existence.  Philosophy,  Religion,  and 
Poetry  sit  enthroned,  as  a  Spiritual  Triunity,  in  the  shrine  of  man's 
highest  nature.  The  perfect  vision  of  all-embracing  Truth,  the 
vital  feeling  of  all-blessing  Good,  and  the  living  sense  of  all-gracing 
Beauty,  they  form,  united,  the  Divinity  of  Pure  Reason." 

Suddenly  he  retired,  and  left  me  uncertain  whether  he  had  read 
Richter,  or  been  struck  by  lunar  influence. 

A  LETTER  ON  THE   CLASSIFICATION    OF  KNOWL 
EDGE,  ADDRESSED   TO  A  FRIEND. 

DEAR  SIR, — 

The  reduction  of  human  knowledge  to  a  few  definite  heads  has 
been  a  favorite  pursuit  of  many  eminent  philosophers.  Bacon, 
Locke,  and  D'Alembert  have  particularly  given  it  their  attention, 
and  have  each  presented  the  world  with  schemes,  evincing,  indeed, 
their  usual  force  of  intellect,  but  which,  in  the  opinion  of  the  best 
judges,  are  imperfect.  The  publication  of  Judge  Woodward's  very 
learned  work,  "  Encatholepisthemia,"  and  the  consequent  reviews  in 
the  Analectic  Magazine,  directed  my  thoughts  particularly  to  that 
object,  although  it  had  often  before  been  the  subject  of  my  reflec 
tion.  That  this  classification  of  knowledge  is  highly  useful,  no  one 
can  deny  who  considers  for  a  moment  that  it  is  universally  prac 
tised  (though  in  an  imperfect  manner  usually)  by  every  man  of 


APPENDIX.  553 

any  extensive  science.  The  astronomer  and  naturalist  find  it  ne 
cessary  to  separate  from  the  mass  of  knowledge  certain  particular 
branches  which  claim  their  attention  most,  and  to  give  these  a  cer 
tain  order  and  arrangement.  The  physician  arranges  the  various 
objects  of  medical  inquiry,  the  divine  has  his  special  subjects, 
and  the  lawyer  his  system  of  legal  and  political  science ;  at  least, 
this  is  the  case  with  such  as  are  philosophical  in  the  structure  of 
their  minds.  There  are  two  kinds  of  minds  which  I  imagine  never 
form  such  an  arrangement,  or  at  least  none  of  their  own,  —  those 
who  always  follow  the  beaten  track  of  others,  who  never  think 
for  themselves,  but  who  always  walk  in  the  leading-strings  of  greater 
intellects  ;  and  those  whose  minds  have  that  elegant  littleness 
and  that  pleasing  levity  which  conducts  them  into  the  fields  of 
fancy  only,  which  prompts  them  to  gather  but  the  blossoms  of 
science,  and  to  strew  their  pages  with  flowers  and  brilliants.  These 
last  will  never  take  the  trouble  to  methodize  their  thoughts  or  ar 
range  their  knowledge ;  they  are  fully  satisfied  if  they  can  find  a 
striking  comparison  or  a  metaphor  that  will  attract  a  moment's 
admiration.  Not  that  these  minds  are  useless  in  the  literary  world. 
They  are  as  necessary  to  the  jaded  minds  of  the  mathematician  and 
philosopher,  in  the  intervals  of  their  severe  pursuits,  as  repose  to  the 
laborer  or  football  to  your  younger  classes.  The  world  must  be 
pleased  and  enchanted  as  well  as  instructed  and  convinced.  The 
poet  must  tune  his  lyre  for  them,  and  the  orator  raise  his  voice.  The 
harmony  of  numbers  and  the  splendor  of  imagery  must  charm  the 
palate  of  the  literary  epicure ;  and  while  the  health  of  his  mind  is 
preserved  by  the  plain  food  of  a  Locke  or  a  Paley,  the  feast  of  soul 
must  be  seasoned  with  the  works  of  a  Stewart  or  a  Chalmers.  You 
know  that  these  notions  are  not  new  with  me ;  in  our  collegiate 
life  they  often  excited  some  altercations  between  us,  but  I  hope 
never  opened  an  impassable  gulf.  I  have  no  objections  to  a  figure, 
if  it  will  mingle  itself  spontaneously  with  the  stream  of  my  thoughts ; 
but  I  do  not  wish  to  bend  aside  from  my  natural  course  to  absorb 
the  tributary  rill  of  a  metaphor,  however  sweet  or  pure  its  waters 
may  be. 

But  I  have  wandered.  I  began  with  the  arrangement  of  knowl 
edge,  and  I  will  end  with  the  same.  I  observed  that  a  complete 
philosophical  arrangement  would  be  highly  useful.  It  has  never 
yet  been  accomplished  with  full  success,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  Stew 
art,  although  a  desiderandum,  it  is  a  desperandum ;  but  I  hope  Stew- 
24 


554  APPENDIX. 

art's  fears  are  groundless,  and  that  some  genius  will  hereafter  arise 
who  will  dispel  the  darkness,  and  write  in  letters  of  light  the  true 
nomenclature  of  human  knowledge. 

I  observed  to  you  that  this  arrangement  had  often  been  the  sub 
ject  of  my  reflections.  In  the  intervals  of  my  employments  last 
summer,  after  the  tedious  task  of  tilling  an  obstinate  and  barren 
soil,  I  directed  my  thoughts  that  way  and  reduced  my  notions  to  a 
sort  of  system.  After  I  had  given  it  the  first  and  second  readings, 
after  I  had  debated  it  clause  by  clause,  and  added  the  necessary 
amendments,  I  engrossed  it  and  presented  it  to  Mr.  Nathaniel 
Chauncey  for  his  assent.  He  was  pleased  to  smile  upon  it  his  ap 
probation.  I  have  since  reconsidered  it  still  further ;  and  in  its 
present  state  I  take  the  liberty,  with  your  permission,  of  presenting 
it  to  your  consideration,  satisfied  that  if  it  does  not  meet  with  a 
favorable,  it  will  meet  with  a  tender  judge ;  if  its  excellences  are 
not  acknowledged,  its  defects  will  be  concealed.  I  begin  my  work 
with  a  division  of  the  sciences,  which  I  have  not  seen  in  any  author, 
at  least  as  far  as  I  can  recollect,  but  which,  however,  I  do  not 
claim  as  original,  —  it  is  into  primitive  and  secondary  sciences.  By 
the  way,  I  consider  all  knowledge  as  properly  reducible  to  science, 
that  is,  to  general  philosophical  principles.  True  it  is,  we  find  books 
which  are  not  systems,  and  in  which  no  attempt  is  made  at  general 
ization.  The  descriptive  works  of  the  older  botanists,  in  which 
plants  are  alphabetically  arranged  ;  books  of  travels,  in  which  facts 
are  set  down  in  the  order  of  their  occurrence  ;  medical  and  law  re 
ports,  in  which  cases  are  promiscuously  detailed  ;  statute  books,  in 
which  acts  are  arranged  in  the  order  of  their  enactment  ;  poems 
and  belles-lettres,  essays,  in  which  elegant  thoughts,  moral  obser 
vations,  and  nice  reflections  on  life  and  manners  are  mingled  as 
the  fancy  or  the  feeling  of  the  writer  dictated  ;  and  even  the  sacred 
volume  itself,  —  are  of  such  a  description.  But  these  are  not  yet  fully 
formed  to  meet  the  philosopher's  eye  :  they  are  rich  chaoses  from 
which  every  one  can  draw  his  own  peculiar  wealth,  and  which  in 
this  state  are  far  more  useful  to  the  great  mass  of  men  than  if  ar 
ranged  with  all  the  exactness  of  an  Aristotle  or  a  Linne.  The 
world  is  not  a  world  of  philosophers,  and  hence  books  calculated 
for  general  instruction  must  be  suited  to  common  capacities.  Ex 
ample  rather  than  precept,  illustration  rather  than  demonstration, 
plain  truths  nicely  mingled  with  attracting  narrative,  instruction 
wisely  scattered  among  pleasing  details,  here  a  little  and  there  a 


APPENDIX.  555 

little,  appeals  to  the  heart  and  feelings,  these  are  more  useful  ma 
terials  for  such  books  than  strict  definitions  and  exact  demonstra 
tions  with  all  their  apparatus  of  lemmas,  corollaries,  and  scholia. 
Such  is  the  nature  of  the  sacred  volume,  and  this  unrivalled  want 
of  system  must  ever  endear  it  more  and  more  to  the  lover  of  religion 
and  human  happiness.  But  such  books  are  among  the  materials 
from  which  systematic  knowledge  is  formed.  The  theologian 
studies  the  Scriptures  and  combines  their  doctrines  into  a  regular 
body ;  a  Blackstone  builds  the  statutes  and  the  reports  of  common 
law  into  an  arranged  fabric  of  jurisprudence ;  a  Cullen  or  Darwin 
combines  the  experiences  detailed  in  various  writers,  as  well 
as  their  own,  into  a  medical  system  ;  the  geographer,  the  antiqua 
ry,  the  naturalist,  and  the  politician  make  common  plunder  of  the 
traveller's  details ;  while  Aristotle  and  Home  drew  the  laws  of  po 
etics  and  the  elements  of  criticism  from  the  epopee  of  Homer  and 
the  tragedy  of  Shakespeare.  I  make  these  observations  because 
I  would  not  have  you  consider  me  an  arranger  of  books ;  my  ob 
ject  is  to  give  order  to  the  philosophy  of  knowledge,  and  in  this 
light  I  consider  books,  like  the  world  of  nature  and  of  soul,  the  mine 
for  the  philosopher  to  dig  from. 

By  sciences,  then,  I  understand  general  philosophical  principles, 
and  these  alone  are  capable  of  arrangement.  The  mode  of  ar 
ranging  them  has  not  yet  been  settled.  Bacon,  and  after  him 
D'Alembert  nearly  in  his  steps,  follow  the  operations  of  the  mind 
and  distinguish  the  sciences  by  the  faculties  chiefly  employed  in 
their  pursuit.  The  imagination  draws  to  itself  poetry  and  rhetoric  ; 
the  reason,  natural  and  moral  philosophy ;  and  the  memory,  natural 
and  civil  history. 

Others,  particularly  the  French  academicians,  choose  to  build 
their  arrangements  on  the  subjects  of  which  the  sciences  treat ;  in 
deed  the  original  arrangement  of  the  National  Institute  appears  to 
me  the  best  I  have  yet  seen,  and  I  acknowledge  it  the  parent  of  all 
my  notions  on  the  subject.  You  will  find  a  sketch  of  it  in  a  pic 
ture  of  Paris  in  one  of  the  Society  libraries,  and  another  as  it  was 
afterwards  reformed,  or  rather  deformed,  to  serve  the  purposes  of 
Napoleon,  in  one  of  the  later  volumes  of  the  Portfolio,  I  don't 
recollect  which.  Stewart  has  given  it  as  his  opinion  that  if  ever 
the  sciences  are  well  arranged  it  will  be  on  this  basis.  In  the  sys 
tem,  then,  with  which  I  have  amused  myself,  I  arrange  sciences 
according  to  the  subjects  of  which  they  treat,  and  first  into  prim- 


556  APPENDIX. 

itive  and  secondary.  Primitive  sciences  are  derived  immediately 
from  one  division  of  things ;  considered  apart  from  the  aids  in 
their  pursuit,  they  may  be  judged  independent,  at  least  they  have 
each  a  root  of  their  own,  although  their  branches  may  be  inseparably 
intertwined.  Secondary  sciences  are  the  application  of  the  princi 
ples  of  many  primitive  sciences  to  some  particular  pursuit  or  object. 
This  distinction  may  be  best  illustrated  by  an  example.  Chemis 
try  investigates  the  causes  of  those  motions  in  inanimate  nature 
perceptible  only  by  their  effects.  This  is  its  root.  Although,  in 
ascending  from  it,  it  may  call  to  its  aid  other  sciences,  as  mechan 
ics,  mineralogy,  etc.,  still  its  root  is  distinct  and  can  be  blended 
with  no  other.  Agriculture  applies  chemistry  to  the  investigation 
of  soils,  manures,  etc. ;  botany,  to  the  investigation  of  the  growth, 
food,  cultivation,  and  diseases  of  plants ;  anatomy  and  medicine, 
to  the  breeding  and  diseases  of  domestic  animals ;  mechanics,  to 
the  structure  of  farm  buildings  and  utensils  ;  political  economy,  to 
the  adaptation  of  crops  to  markets,  leases,  rents,  taxes,  bounties, 
price  of  labor,  etc.  I  think,  if  you  consider  these  two  sciences,  you 
will  find  the  root  of  chemistry  perfectly  its  own,  and  that  there  is 
not  one  set  of  principles  or  practice  in  agriculture  which  is  not 
derived  from  some  other  science  of  greater  simplicity.  But  in  main 
taining  the  individuality  of  primitive  sciences  I  would  under 
stand  only  their  roots.  There  is  none  of  them  but  what  de 
rives  aid  in  its  pursuit  from  some  other.  Thus  the  various 
branches  of  mathematics  have,  as  the  French  say,  their  meta- 
physique,  but  the  reasoning  and  calculations  can  be  usually  car 
ried  on  without  its  aid.  Mechanical  philosophy  in  its  super 
structure  is  chiefly  mathematical.  Mineralogy  is  greatly  aided  by 
chemistry  and  even  by  mathematics  in  the  study  of  crystals ;  while 
moral  philosophy,  religion,  politics,  jurisprudence,  and  economics 
are  all  intimately  blended,  since  they  are  built  mainly  on  the  broad 
principle  of  universal  happiness. 

Some  difficulty  has  arisen  in  the  arrangement  of  the  arts.  His 
Honor,  the  Judge,  has  formed  a  separate  division  of  them,  because, 
says  he,  "  they  include  the  idea  of  human  powers  " ;  and  hence  he 
has  blended  in  the  same  mass,  anatomy,  medicine,  agriculture, 
painting,  dyeing,  chirography,  and  a  host  of  others,  to  each  of 
which  he  has  given  its  own  new  name  in  full-mouthed  Greek.  The 
assemblage  reminded  me  of  a  rag-fair,  or  of  Shakespeare's  "  black 
spirits  and  white,  blue  spirits  and  gray,  who  mingle,  mingle,  mingle, 


APPENDIX.  557 

as  they  may."  But  his  principle  was  so  absurd  that  he  might  have 
blended  in  the  same  mass  every  species  of  compositions,  for  human 
power  is  requisite  in  transcribing  them.  Arts  appear  to  me  capa 
ble  of  two  points  of  view :  first,  as  regards  their  principles ;  secondly, 
their  practice.  Their  principles  are  merely  scientific,  and  are 
widely  dispersed  through  the  field  of  knowledge  according  to  the 
sciences  from  which  they  are  derived  ;  their  practice  is  merely  the 
directing  our  actions  according  to  those  principles,  and  is  no  more 
worthy  of  arrangement  among  the  branches  of  knowledge,  than 
the  manipulations  of  a  chemist  are  a  part  of  his  discoveries.  The 
principles  of  the  arts,  then,  are  the  only  parts  which  claim  my 
present  attention  ;  and  as  these  imply  no  idea  of  human  powers, 
the  Judge's  system  falls  to  the  ground.  These  principles  are,  I  be 
lieve,  altogether  secondary  sciences.  In  my  system,  then,  I  shall  first 
arrange  the  primitive  sciences,  or  at  least  their  roots  ;  then  point 
out  their  inosculations ;  then  arrange  the  secondary  sciences  ac 
cording  to  their  origin,  pointing  out  the  primitive  sciences  on  which 
they  are  founded ;  and  lastly  point  out  the  applications  of  the 
sciences,  or  rather  those  secondary  sciences  which  are  called  arts. 
I  am  about  to  take  a  Dasdalian  fright,  and  perhaps  vitreo  daturus 
nomina  ponto.  It  may  seem  presumptuous  in  me  to  attempt  one  of 
Stewart's  desperanda,  but  with  your  permission  I  will  go  on.  Your 
patience  may,  however,  be  so  exhausted  by  the  discussion,  that  I 
shall  have  "  to  cry  your  mercy." 


ARRANGEMENT   OF   THE   PRIMITIVE    SCIENCES. 

I.     Mathematical  Science,  the  Science  of  Quantity  or  Magnitude. 

One  of  the  first  ideas  which  we  gain  of  any  object  is  its  magnitude 
if  a  unit,  or  the  number  and  magnitude  of  its  parts  if  compound. 
Hence,  mathematics  is  not  only  the  clearest  and  most  simple,  but 
one  of  the  earliest  sciences.  By  this  I  mean  its  elements,  for  no 
extensive  science  is  early.  They  are  the  work  of  long  civilization, 
and  some,  like  chemistry,  are  but  the  growth  of  yesterday.  The 
comparison  and  combination  of  quantities  are  altogether  the  work 
of  reason.  They  are  merely  observations  of  the  relations  or  ratios 
of  those  quantities.  The  simplest  axiom,  "  the  whole  is  greater 
than  its  part,"  and  the  first  step  in  addition,  "  two  and  two  equal 
four,"  are  ratios.  Hence  the  simplest  branch  of  mathematics  is  the 


558  APPENDIX. 

general  doctrine  of  ratios  ;  but  ratios  can  be  extended  but  a  little 
way  without  certain  aids.  These  are  numbers,  symbols,  and  dia 
grams.  Hence  I  will  thus  arrange  mathematics  :  — 

1 .  Science  of  ratios,  or  general  principles  of  relation. 

2.  Science  of  numbers,  arithmetic,  and  logarithms. 

3.  Science  of  symbols,  algebra,  fluxions,  analysis  in  general. 

4.  Science  of  diagrams,  geometry,  conic  sections,  spherics. 

II.  Physical  Science,  —  Science  of  Material  Nature. 

The  first  objects  that  excite  our  thoughts  or  give  us  ideas  are 
material  objects.  The  idea  of  immateriality  is  much  later. 

When  material  objects  come  under  the  cognizance  of  our  senses 
they  communicate  various  ideas,  —  quantity,  shape,  color,  sound, 
odor,  taste,  roughness,  weight,  and  perceptible  motion,  with  its  con 
sequent  impulse.  The  simplicity  of  mere  quantity  and  regular  fig 
ure,  and  the  great  capability  of  being  abstracted,  give  rise  to  their 
separation  from  other  qualities  of  matter,  and  their  erection  into  a 
distinct  science,  —  mathematics.  The  notion  of  magnitude  and  fig 
ure  must  be  derived  from  external  objects,  but  they  are  applied  only 
in  their  abstractest  forms  to  mathematics.  A  few  simple  definitions 
and  axioms  are  laid  down,  and  from  these  are  derived  that  extensive 
science ;  but  the  other  qualities  of  bodies,  being  more  complex  and  in 
definite,  are  not,  and  cannot,  become  the  subject  of  such  strict  inquiry 
as  is  pursued  in  mathematics.  In  considering  them  the  most  that  can 
be  done  is  to  enumerate  them  faithfully,  and  to  observe  whatever 
relations  we  can  between  them.  In  motions  which  are  clearly  per 
ceptible,  we  soon  discover  the  exciting  cause.  In  pursuing  our  in 
quiries  we  discover  the  causes  of  more  obscure  motions,  and  at  last 
we  can  perceive  that  qualities  whose  causes  are  perfectly  hidden 
from  the  rude  mind  are  also  mere  effects  of  very  obscure  motions. 
Hence  every  quality  of  bodies  becomes  but  the  effect  of  some  cause 
and  that  cause  a  motion.  Two  things  are  observable  in  our  study 
of  material  objects.  We  describe  their  qualities  as  they  affect  our 
senses,  and  we  investigate  the  causes  which  produce  these  qualities. 
The  qualities  of  bodies  may  be  distributed  into  two  classes,  —  those 
which  we  find  constantly  and  permanently  united  in  the  same  mass 
of  matter,  such  as  the  shape,  color,  proportions,  etc.,  of  a  flower  or 
crystal ;  and  those  which  are  temporary  and  occasional  only,  as 
the  flight  of  birds,  the  expanding  of  a  flo.wer,  or  the  darkness  of 


APPENDIX.  559 

the  moon  in  an  eclipse.  Whenever  we  describe  an  object  we  do  it 
by  enumerating  the  former  qualities ;  the  latter  are  rarely  described 
but  when  we  investigate  their  causes.  There  are  also  certain  mo 
tions  which  are  observed,  not  in  one  body  or  a  confined  class  of 
bodies  only,  but  extending  almost  universally  through  nature. 
These  are  the  motions  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  the  motions  derived 
from  impulse,  the  motions  derived  from  chemical  mixture,  and 
those  accompanying  the  birth,  growth,  decay,  and  death  of  all  liv 
ing  beings.  In  describing  the  objects  in  which  these  motions  are 
observed,  we  do  not  necessarily  take  notice  of  them,  but  usually 
consider  them  only  when  we  investigate  their  causes. 

I  would,  then,  divide  physical  science  into  two  great  divisions  : 
the  first  treating  of  the  various  bodies  we  observe  in  nature,  and 
describing  those  assemblages  of  qualifies  which  constitute  their  dis 
tinctive  characters ;  the  second  describing  the  occasional  or  gen 
eral  motions  in  nature,  and  investigating  their  causes.  This  last 
will  also  investigate  the  causes  of  the  permanent  qualities  of  in 
dividual  bodies,  as  these  qualities  are  of  universal  distribution,  but 
are  peculiarly  combined  in  every  class  of  bodies  or  individual. 

1.  PHYSICAL  HISTORY,  —  pure  descriptions  of  the  phenomena 
of  material  bodies. 

1.  Minerals. 

1.  External  appearance. 

2.  Internal  structure,  —  crystallography. 

3.  Relative  position  in  the  earth,  —  geology. 

2.  Vegetables. 

1.  External  appearance,  —  terminology,  systematic  botany. 

2.  Internal  structure,  —  vegetable  anatomy. 

3.  Animals. 

\.  External  appearance,  —  zoology. 

2.  Internal  structure,  —  anatomy,  human  and  comparative. 

[The  manuscript  here  breaks  off.  There  is  no  trace  that  the  sub 
ject  was  ever  further  pursued.] 


560  APPENDIX. 

APPENDIX  E. 

(PAGE  294.) 
CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  SILLIMAN'S  JOURNAL. 

MINERALS  of  Berlin,  Vol.  V.  p.  426. 
Analysis  of  M.  Adolphe  Brongniart  on  Fossil  Vegetation, 
VII.  p.  178. 

On  the  Geology  and  Mineralogy  of  Sicily,  VIII.  p.  201. 
On  the  Zoological  Characters  of  Formations,  VIII.  p.  213. 
Curious  Effect  of  Solar  Light,  XII.  pp.  164,  180. 
Crescent  Form  of  Dikes  first  observed  by,  XL VI.  p.  205. 


APPENDIX  F. 

(PAGE  300.) 
NATURAL  HISTORY. 

AN  EXTRACT   FROM   THE   SABBATH   SCHOOL  HERALD,   NOV.,  1830. 


to  the  consideration  of  our  destiny  and  duties,  few  em- 
ployments  are  more  useful  to  the  young  mind  than  the  study 
of  nature,  or  in  more  suitable  language,  of  the  works  of  creation  and 
providence.  Whether  we  consider  it  in  its  influences  on  the  mind 
or  heart,  it  will  be  found  not  only  in  the  highest  degree  interesting 
and  attractive,  but  equally  ameliorating  and  instructive  in  its  ten 
dency.  We  do  not  now  speak  of  the  simple  scientific  investigation 
of  natural  things,  the  mere  examination  of  their  outward  forms 
and  internal  organization,  or  even  of  the  observation  of  their  con 
tinued  existence  and  all  its  manifold  phenomena  and  changes,  but 
rather  of  their  relation  to  us  and  their  Author.  Even  the  first 


APPENDIX.  561 

method  of  studying  nature,  coldly  philosophical  as  it  is,  is  not 
without  its  pleasures  and  attractions,  as  we  see  by  the  intense  en 
thusiasm  of  those  who  are  devoted  to  such  pursuits,  nor  is  it  to  be 
considered  an  idle  play  of  the  mind,  without  any  useful  results  on 
the  heart  and  conduct,  for  whatever  employs  our  intellectual  facul 
ties  on  subjects  elevated  above  moral  debasement  is  in  itself  a 
means  of  purifying  the  character  and  giving  it  a  spiritual  tendency. 
We  must  indeed  regret  that  so  many  among  the  first  and  wisest 
philosophers  have  paused  as  it  were  on  the  threshold  Of  nature, 
without  penetrating  to  the  secret  shrine  of  its  Maker ;  but  we 
should  do  injustice  to  them  and  the  object  of  their  pursuits  if  we 
supposed  that  their  unwearied  investigations  had  no  salutary  influ 
ence  on  their  moral  being,  or  that  their  irreligion  was  the  result  of 
their  philosophy.  If  we  examine  their  lives  and  deportment,  we 
shall,  in  most  instances,  find  that  they  have  been  better  and  more 
moral,  if  not  more  pious  and  devout,  for  their  studies,  and  that 
their  irreligion  should  not  be  attributed  to  the  tendency  of  their 
own  peculiar  pursuits,  but  to  some  unhappy  moral  influences  con 
nected  with  society  and  education.  True  philosophy  and  true  re 
ligion  are  indeed  the  same.  If  the  one  is  more  intellectual  in  its 
character,  more  a  light  which  irradiates  the  head  and  less  a  fire 
that  warms  the  heart,  it  is  not  for  that  reason  adverse  to,  or  in 
compatible  with,  the  other.  Both  are  alike  the  guides  that  conduct 
us  up  from  the  downward  paths  of  life  to  the  throne  of  the  Deity 
and  the  regions  where  we  alone  can  be  happy.  They  aid  and  il 
lustrate  each  other ;  and  while  philosophy  is  quickened  and  ani 
mated  by  religion,  and  filled  with  a  devout  and  living  energy, 
religion  is  rendered  clearer  and  more  certain  by  philosophy,  and 
saved  from  the  dangers  of  superstition  and  misguided  enthusiasm. 
But  in  the  study  of  nature  we  should  never  forget  that  these 
visible  things  are  but  the  manifestations  of  the  One  Invisible. 
Nature  considered  as  a  vast  instrument,  guided  by  an  Almighty 
hand,  is  the  perpetual  source  of  the  most  devout  and  religious 
emotions.  It  then  finds  an  entrance  into  the  heart,  and  becomes  a 
mover  of  the  finest  feelings  and  affections.  The  more  it  is  studied 
the  more  it  reveals  of  design  and  order,  and  the  more  it  displays 
the  presence  of  the  Deity  in  all  his  works.  Whether  we  consider 
the  forms  of  things  or  the  works  of  creation,  or  their  ever- vary  ing 
changes  or  the  works  of  providence,  wisdom  and  benevolence  are 
everywhere  presented  to  us :  and  while  the  mind  is  convinced,  the 
24  JJ 


562  APPENDIX. 

heart  is  irresistibly  impelled  to  acknowledge  the  great  Author  and 
Ruler  of  the  universe.  We  cannot  but  hope  that  the  prejudices 
which  have  existed  in  so  many  excellent  minds  against  the  study 
of  natural  science  from  its  irreligious  tendency  will  no  longer  find 
a  place  with  those  who  have  so  great  opportunities  of  usefulness, 
and  who  may  have  it  so  much  in  their  power  to  correct  any  im 
proper  application  of  its  truths,  as  the  teachers  of  Sabbath  schools. 
We  have  long  been  convinced  that  our  happiness  and  even  our 
security  depend  in  a  great  degree  on  the  truths  of  nature,  and  that 
in  giving  us  a  revealed  and  written  law,  the  Deity  did  not  abro 
gate  the  law  which  he  had  inscribed  on  our  hearts  and  on  the 
world  around  us,  and  we  have  therefore  been  anxious  that  those 
studies  which  can  alone  make  known  to  us  that  older  law  should 
be  freed  from  an  odium  which  in  the  opinions  of  many  has  so 
long  rested  upon  them.  We  have  known,  too,  how  much  peace  and 
innocent  pleasure  may  be  derived  from  those  studies,  how  the 
mind  is  diverted  from  the  control  of  debasing  and  depressing  pas 
sions,  and  how  often  the  heart  is  touched  and  warmed  by  exhibi 
tions  of  benevolence  and  wisdom.  These  considerations  have 
induced  us  to  give  some  little  time  to  the  preparation  of  a  few 
short  articles  on  the  study  of  Natural  History,  in  its  connection 
with  Sabbath-school  instruction.  We  propose  to  treat  of  it  in  its 
intellectual,  moral,  and  religious  bearings.  In  its  intellectual  char 
acter,  we  shall  consider  it  as  a  means  of  developing  and  disciplin 
ing  the  understanding  ;  in  its  moral  character,  as  a  corrector  of  the 
disposition  and  affections;  and  in  its  religious  character,  as  a 
source  of  elevated  and  devout  emotions,  by  revealing  at  once  the 
greatness  and  the  kindness  of  the  Deity,  in  the  immensity  of  his 
works  as  a  whole,  and  in  the  minute  design  and  nice  adaptation 
of  parts  to  their  purposes,  which  pervade  every  portion  of  the 


APPENDIX.  563 

APPENDIX  G. 

(PAGE  337.) 
THE  PROPER  ORDER  IN  THE  STUDY  OF  LANGUAGES. 

WE  are  very  sensible  how  much  unwillingness  is  generally 
manifested  in  adopting  any  innovation  on  the  established 
order  of  things.  Habits  that  have  been  long  cherished  become  in 
a  manner  sacred,  no  matter  whether  they  are  good,  bad,  or  indiffer 
ent.  Our  object,  at  present,  is  to  recommend  certain  innovations 
on  some  of  our  habits  of  education,  which  are  of  so  long  standing 
that  the  origin  of  them  passeth  remembrance.  We  allude  to  the 
study  of  the  dead  languages  as  a  part  of  early  education.  We  can 
not  enter  into  any  details  on  the  subject ;  but  we  take  the  liberty  of 
suggesting  a  few  considerations,  which  we  trust  may  be  of  some 
value. 

In  the  first  place,  we  think  the  dead  languages  ought  not  to  be 
the  first  studied.  They  are  not  the  most  favorable  studies  for  the 
improvement  of  the  powers  of  deduction,  because  they  abound  in 
anomalies,  and  the  young  student  finds  his  legitimate  conclusions 
continually  contradicted  by  those  irregularities  which  are  the  re 
sult  of  custom,  the  only  rule  of  speech.  The  exact  sciences  are 
the  only  studies  where  the  just  conclusions  of  the  student  will  al 
ways  coincide  with  the  real  results  of  his  studies.  He  will  never 
find  his  decisions,  when  formed  by  a  regular  course  of  reasoning, 
contradicted  by  the  unphilosophical  habits  of  those  who  have  gone 
before  him. 

They  are  inferior  to  the  physical  sciences,  whether  descriptive 
or  experimental,  in  improving  the  powers  of  observation,  because 
the  latter  deal  in  objects  of  sense  which  are  definite ;  and  the  former, 
only  in  arbitrary  signs  of  such  objects,  and  those  often  indetermi 
nate  in  their  application. 

They  are  of  less  value,  too,  in  cultivating  the  memory  than  the 
modern  languages  akin  to  our  own,  because  they  are  less  easily 
understood  and  less  easily  associated  with  real  objects,  on  which 
the  only  solid  foundations  of  a  good  memory  are  laid.  Memory,  wa 
conceive,  depends  primarily  on  natural  and  philosophical  associa- 


564  APPENDIX. 

tions.  It  may  be  improved  by  arbitrary  and  unmeaning  associa 
tions  and  by  forced  efforts  of  attention ;  but  it  then  becomes  an 
artificial  memory,  which  is  always  opposed  to  every  natural  and 
useful  effort  of  the  mind.  It  depends  on  habits  which  must  be 
forgotten,  or  the  individual  is  in  a  great  measure  unfitted  for 
society. 

We  conceive  the  great  object  to  be  attained  in  the  study  of  a 
language  is  to  attach  definite  images  to  every  word  (not  connec 
tive),  and  above  all  to  every  phrase  and  sentence.  (Connective 
words,  of  course,  are  visible  in  the  mind's  eye  only  as  they  are 
linked  with  the  names  of  things.) 

It  is  always  hard  to  go  from  one  fixed  habit  to  a  new  one. 
We  learn  our  own  language  early  and  imperceptibly,  by  means  of 
natural  associations.  The  structure  of  our  own  language  becomes 
then  a  habit  of  the  mind,  and  those  languages  are,  of  course,  most 
easily  learned  which  most  nearly  resemble  ours  in  structure.  Lan 
guages  have  been  divided  variously.  Some  distribute  them  accord 
ing  as  the  relations  of  words  are  determined  by  affixes,  inflections, 
or  auxiliaries.  Now  we  are  inclined  to  believe  that  it  would  not  be 
hard  to  show  that  all  languages  are  formed  on  one  principle,  and 
that  all  affixes  and  syllables  of  inflection  are  only  auxiliary  words 
(which  once  had  a  definite  meaning,  now  lost)  soldered  or  closely 
united  to  the  principal  words  of  the  language.  But  this  is  not  to 
our  present  purpose.  Languages  have  now  a  very  different  aspect 
to  one  who  has  not  studied  their  philosophy,  and  there  is  as  wide  a 
difference  between  a  language  construed  by  auxiliaries  like  ours 
and  most  of  the  modern  languages  of  Europe,  and  those  which  are 
construed  by  inflections,  like  the  Greek  and  Latin,  as  if  the  sylla 
bles  of  inflections  in  these  latter  languages  were  really  by  them 
selves  arbitrary  and  unmeaning.  To  the  student  they  are  so  to  all 
intents  and  purposes. 

We  think  it  may  be  laid  down  as  an  axiom  in  education  to  pro 
ceed  from  the  easy  to  the  difficult,  from  the  more  to  the  less  intelli 
gible.  Of  course,  in  studying  languages,  we  ought  to  begin  with 
such  as  are  nearest  ours  in  their  structure,  and  then  gradually  ad 
vance  to  those  which  are  farthest  removed. 

If  it  is  an  object  to  attain  to  a  good  knowledge  of  the  ancient 
languages,  that  we  may  fully  enjoy  their  literary  treasures,  we  con 
ceive  it  might  be  best  acquired  by  beginning  with  the  French,  the 
lowest  in  the  scale  of  descent,  then  passing  to  the  Italian,  then  to 


APPENDIX.  565 

the  later  Latin,  then  to  the  Latin  of  the  Augustan  age,  and  finally 
to  the  Greek,  in  the  same  order.  This  may  be  pronounced  an 
inverted  order,  and  that  we  ought  to  begin  with  the  root  and  pass 
off  to  the  branches ;  but  if  so,  then  we  should  begin  with  the 
Greek,  which  is  considered  the  root  of  the  Latin,  and  descend  from 
it  in  the  scale  we  have  mentioned.  No  one  can  deny  that  a  child 
will  learn  French  easier  than  Latin,  even  supposing  him  to  follow 
the  same  course  in  each ;  and  if  so,  the  natural  order  of  teaching  is 
the  reverse  of  the  order  of  descent. 


APPENDIX  H. 

(PAGE  425.) 
HEXAMETER  TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER. 

THE    EXORDIUM    OP   THE    ILIAD. 

SING,  0  Goddess,  the  wrath  of  Achilles,  the  son  of  Peleus, 
Fatal,  which  on  the  Greeks  sent  numberless  woes  and  sorrows, 
Hurling  to  Hades  the  souls  of  many  valiant  heroes, 
Leaving  their  corpses  a  prey  to  ravens  and  dogs  and  vultures. 

But  the  will  of  Jove  was  accomplished  ;  from  what  time  Atrides, 
Monarch  of  men,  and  noble  Achilles,  in  strife  contending. 
First  were  parted,  nor  longer  united  their  forces  in  battle. 
Who  of  the  gods  compelled  them  to  join  in  contention  and  discord  ? 
He,  the  son  of  Zatona  and  Jove,  he,  enraged  with  Atrides, 
Sent  through  the  army  a  fatal  disease,  and  it  wasted  the  people. 
Wherefore  ?     Because  Atrides  dishonored  the  priest  of  Apollo, 
Chryses.     He  came  to  the  swiftly  sailing  ships  of  the  Grecians, 
Bringing  uncounted  treasures,  the  price  of  his  daughter's  freedom, 
Holding  the  crown  in  his  hand,  the  crown  of  far-darting  Apollo, 
Raised  on  his  golden  staff;  and  thus  he  entreated  the  Grecians, 
Most  of  all  the  Atridse,  the  chiefs  and  lords  of  the  people. 

"  0,  ye  sons  of  Atreus,  and  all  ye  well-booted  Achseans, 
May  the  Immortals  grant,  the  gods  who  inhabit  Olympus, 
That  you  destroy  the  city  of  Priam,  and  safely  sail  homewards; 
But  release  me  my  daughter,  and  take  the  ransom  I  offer, 
Bending  before  the  son  of  Jove,  far-darting  Apollo." 


566  APPENDIX. 

Then  all  the  other  Achseans  applauded  the  saying  of  Chryses, 
Willing  to  honor  the  priest  and  take  the  splendid  ransom  ; 
Yet  it  pleased  not  the  son  of  Agamemnon,  Atrides, 
But  he  foully  dismissed  him  and  gave  this  bitter  commandment. 

"  Let  me  never  find  thee,  old  man,  by  the  hollow  vessels, 
Either  now  delaying,  or  after  again  returning, 
Lest  the  staff  may  not  aid  thee,  nor  yet  the  crown  of  Apollo. 
I  will  not  free  thy  daughter,  —  no,  never,  till  old  age  invade  her, 
Far  away  from  her  native  home  in  my  palace,  in  Argos, 
Where  she  shall  twirl  the  shuttle,  and  share  my  couch  as  a  bondmaid. 
Go,  and  provoke  me  not,  —  and  thou  wilt  return  more  securely." 

Thus  he  spake.    The  old  man  feared  and  obeyed  his  commandment 
Sileut  he  went  by  the  shore  of  the  loud-resounding  ocean. 
When  he  had  gone  far  apart,  the  old  man  prayed  to  Apollo, 
Whom  Zatona  bore,  the  goddess  with  long  curling  tresses. 

"  Hear  me,  thou  god  of  the  silver  bow,  who  walkest  round  Chryse, 
And  the  holy  Cilia,  and  rulest  Tenedos  bravely, 
Smintheus.     If  I  have  ever  crowned  thy  elegant  temple, 
Or  if  I  ever  have  burnt  fat  thighs  of  bulls  on  thy  altar, 
Or  of  goats,  0,  hear  and  accomplish  my  wishes,  Apollo  ! 
May  the  Greeks  repay  my  bitter  tears  with  thy  arrows." 

Thus  he  spake  in  prayer  ;  and  Phoebus  Apollo  heard  him. 
Down  from  the  top  of  Olympus  he  sprang,  his  heart  waked  to  fury, 
Holding  his  bow  on  his  shoulders,  aud  also  his  well-covered  quiver. 
As  he  rushed  in  wrath,  his  arrows  rang  on  his  shoulders. 
Then  he  moved,  gloomy  as  night,  and  sitting  on  Callicolonc, 
Far  away  from  the  ships,  he  drew  and  sent  forth  an  arrow. 
Dreadfully  twanged  the  string  as  the  silver  bow  rebounded. 
First  he  invaded  the  mules,  and  the  swift-footed  dogs  of  the  army  ; 
Then  he  sent  a  deadly  dart,  full  aimed  at  the  people. 
And  it  bit  them.    The  pyres  of  the  dead  were  incessantly  burning. 
Nine  long  days  the  shafts  of  the  god  flew  thick  through  the  army  ; 
But  on  the  tenth  Achilles  called  a  general  assembly. 
Juno,  the  white-armed  goddess,  suggested  the  thought  to  his  spirit, 
For  she  lamented  the  Greeks,  because  she  saw  them  dying. 
When  they  were  all  collected,  and  fully  gathered  together, 
Then  swift-footed  Achilles  arose,  and  thus  he  harangued  them. 


VARIOUS    SIMILES. 

Diomedes  compared  to  the  Autumnal  Star. 

Then  Athene  gave  Tydean  Diomedes 

Strength  of  body  and  soul  to  raise  him  among  the  Grecians, 
First  in  battle,  and  give  him  thereafter  conspicuous  glory. 
Therefore  she  kiudled  unwearied  fire  on  his  helmet  and  buckler, 
Like  the  autumnal  star  which  shines  with  the  brightest  beauty 


APPENDIX.  567 

When  it  has  bathed  its  light  in  the  rolling  waves  of  ocean, 
Driving  him  into  the  midst,  where  the  fight  and  the  tumult  were  thickest. 

Iliad,  Book  V. 


The  People  assembling  compared  to  Bees.  t 

As  when  the  swarms  of  crowded  bees  go  forth  in  the  spring  time, 

Always  issuing  freshly  out  from  the  hollow  cavern  ; 

Then  in  clusters  they  fly  around  the  vernal  blossoms  ; 

Some  flutter  hither  in  hovering  clouds,  and  some  flutter  thither  ; 

So  from  the  ships  and  the  tents,  the  many  swarms  of  the  people 

Went,  with  measured  march,  by  the  beach  of  the  boundless  ocean, 

Onward  in  bands  to  the  mutiny  ;  among  them  Ossa  was  kindred. 

She,  the  herald  of  Jove,  impelled  them,  and  they  were  assembled. 

Then  the  mutiny  resounded,  and  loud  beneath  the  earth  groaned, 

As  the  people  sat  down  in  their  ranks,  and  there  was  a  tumult. 

Nine  loud  heralds  restrained  them  and  bade  them  cease  from  their  clamor, 

That  they  might  hear  the  words  of  the  heaven-protected  chieftains. 

Scarce  could  the  people  be  seated  5  but  when  they  were  still  in  their  places, 

And  when  the  clamor  was  silent,  arose  the  king,  Agamemnon, 

Holding  his  royal  staff,  which  Vulcan  had  wrought  and  labored. 

Vulcan  gave  it  to  Jove,  the  King,  the  son  of  Saturn  ; 

Jove  then  gave  the  staff  to  his  herald  the  slayer  of  Argus  ; 

Mercury  gave  it  to  Pelops,  the  tamer  and  breaker  of  horses  ; 

Pelops  gave  it  to  Atreus,  the  shepherd  and  guide  of  the  people  ; 

Atreus  dying  bequeathed  the  gift  to  the  wealthy  Thyestes  5 

But  Thyestes  left  it  behind  to  be  borne  by  Atrides, 

That  he  might  rule  over  many  islands,  and  govern  all  Argos. 

Leaning  on  this  he  stood,  and  spake  winged  words  to  the  Grecians.     • 

Book  II.  87. 


THE  PARTING  OF  HECTOR  AND  ANDROMACHE. 

Thus  spake,  and  stretched  his  arms  to  his  son,  illustrious  Hector  ; 

But  the  child  shrunk  screaming  back,  and  clung  to  the  bosom 

Of  the  fair-zoned  nurse,  by  his  father's  looks  affrighted, 

Trembling  before  the  brass  and  the  crest  wide-waving  with  horse-hair, 

Seeing  it  terribly  nodding  aloft  on  the  top  of  the  helmet. 

Then  the  delighted  parents  laughed  at  his  infant  terrors. 

Instant  he  took  his  helm  from  his  head,  illustrious  Hector, 

And  on  the  ground  he  laid  it,  the  helm  all  bright  and  shining. 

When  he  had  kissed  his  darling  son,  and  softly  waved  him, 

Then  he  spoke  in  prayer  to  Jove  and  other  Immortals. 

"Grant  me,  Jove,  and  ye  other  gods,  that  my  son  hereafter, 
Even  as  I  am  now,  be  chiefest  among  the  Trojans, 


568  APPENDIX. 

Thus  excelling  in  strength,  and  Ilium  high  controlling. 
Then  at  length  they  may  say,  "  He  far  surpasses  his  father, 
When  from  war  he  returns.    May  he  bear  the  bloody  trophies 
Torn  from  his  slaughtered  foes,  and  delight  the  soul  of  his  mother." 

Thus  he  spake,  and  laid  in  the  arms  of  his  wife,  the  beloved, 
Softly  his  child  :  she  folded  him  close  to  her  fragrant  bosom, 
Tearfully  smiling.    Her  husband  observed  her  tears,  and  in  pity 
Soothed  her  with  gentle  hand,  and  with  words  of  love  addressed  her. 

"  Fairest  and  best,  0,  grieve  not  so  deep  in  thy  soul  for  thy  Hector  ! 
None  shall  send  him,  against  his  fate,  too  soon  to  Hades. 
Surely  mortal  has  never  escaped  what  fate  has  ordained  him, 
None,  whether  coward  or  brave,  from  the  earliest  dawn  of  existence. 
But  return  to  thy  home,  and  there  attend  to  thy  labor, 
Twirling  the  shuttle  and  distaff,  and  also  command  thy  maidens, 
That  they  perform  their  tasks  5  but  war  is  the  care  and  duty, 
Sole,  of  man,  and  chiefly  mine  of  all  the  Trojans." 

Thus  having  spoke,  he  took  his  helm,  illustrious  Hector, 
Waving  with  horse-hair.     His  wife,  the  beloved,  to  her  home  returning, 
Often  looked  back  as  she  went,  and  in  tears  poured  hej;  passionate  sorrows. 
Then  she  speedily  came  to  the  well-constructed  palace 
Of  her  Hector,  the  slayer  of  men,  and  her  many  maidens 
Found  within,  and  in  all  excited  a  loud  lamentation. 
They  aloud  bewailed  in  his  palace  the  loving  Hector ; 
For  they  said  he  would  never  come,  from  the  fight  returning, 
Never  would  come,  escaping  the  wrath  and  the  swords  of  the  Grecians. 

Book  VI.  466. 


FRAGMENTS  FROM  GREEK  AUTHORS. 

Sweet  mother !  I  can  weave  the  web  no  more,  — 
So  much  I  love  the  youth,  so  much  I  lingering  love. 

Sappho. 

The  moon  has  set,  the  Pleiades  are  gone  5 

'T  is  the  mid-noon  of  night ;  the  hour  is  by,  — 

And  yet  I  watch  alone. 

Sappho. 

Not  mine  the  boast  of  countless  herds, 
Nor  purple  tapestries,  nor  treasures  gold, 
But  mine  the  peaceful  spirit, 
And  the  dear  muse,  and  pleasant  wine 
Stored  in  Boeotian  urns. 

Bacchylides. 


APPENDIX.  569 

As  late  I  wove  a  garland 
Love  lurked  amid  the  roses  5 
I  took  him  by  his  wings 
And  bathed  him  all  in  wine, 
And  then  I  drained  the  bowl ; 
And  now  in  every  vein 
I  feel  his  quivering  wings. 

Julian,  Egypt. 


Would  that  I  were  a  beautiful  lyre, 
And  that  beautiful  children  bore  me 

To  the  Dionysian  dance. 
Would  that  I  were  a  beautiful  golden  vase. 
And  a  beautiful  woman  bore  me, 

All  pure  in  her  soul. 

Anonymous. 


Hither  and  thither  the  waves  are  rolling, 
And  me  in  the  black  ship  amidst  them, 
Onward  are  tossing  and  driving, 
With  a  strong,  mighty  tempest  contending. 
The  sea  fills  the  hold  round  the  foot  of  the  mast ; 
The  sails  wide  rent  in  tatters, 
Away  on  the  winds  are  flying, 
And  loosened  the  anchors. 

AlC  (BUS. 


570  APPENDIX. 

APPENDIX  I. 

(PAGE  426.) 
A  SLAVONIC  EXCERPT. 

FROM   THE    CHURCH   CHRONICLE   FOR  MARCH   7,  1841. 

MR.  EDITOR,  — I  offer  you,  as  perhaps  not  unfitted  for  a  place 
in  your  paper,  the  following  literal  version  of  Derzhavin's  cel 
ebrated  Ode  to  God  (Bog),  which  some  years  since  excited  not  a  little 
interest  in  the  translation,  published  by  Bowring,  in  the  First  Part  of 
his  Russian  Anthology,  and  from  that  copied  by  Pierpont  into  his 
First  Class  Book.  This  Ode  has  been  regarded  by  the  Russians  as 
one  of  the  first  efforts,  if  not  the  very  first  effort,  of  their  greatest  poet, 
and  has  been  generally  diffused  by  translation,  even  among  the  Chi 
nese  and  Japanese.  It  would  be  hazarding  little  to  say  that,  among 
secular  compositions,  it  has  hardly  been  equalled  in  energy,  sublim 
ity,  purity,  and  fervor.  Such,  at  least,  is  the  character  of  the  original. 
The  author,  in  his  life,  strikingly  illustrates  the  peculiar  position 
of  the  Literary  Character,  in  Russia,  as  an  appendage  of  its  all- 
absorbing  autocratical  government.  Born  in  a  remote  province  of 
the  empire  (Kasan),  he  received  a  military  education,  which  he 
completed  in  the  Imperial  Gymnasium,  and  after  having  been  first 
enrolled  in  the  engineer  service,  he  was  transferred,  as  a  reward  for 
distinction,  particularly  in  the  mathematics,  to  the  ranks  of  one  of 
the  regiments  of  Guards  (1761).  In  this  service,  he  rose  through 
successive  gradations,  till  1784,  when  he  was  transferred  to  the 
civil  service,  in  which  he  pursued  the  same  graduated  ascent,  dur 
ing  the  reigns  of  Catharine  II.  and  Paul,  till  he  was  raised  to  the 
Ministry  of  Justice  by  Alexander  (1802),  soon  after  which  he  re 
tired  on  full  allowance,  as  a  reward  for  his  long  and  distinguished 
services,  and  was  thus  enabled  to  devote  the  evening  of  his  life,  till 
his  death,  in  1816,  to  those  literary  pursuits  which  have  rendered 
his  name  the  common  property  of  all  cultivated  minds.  Though 
thus,  through  his  whole  life,  the  servant  and  pensioner  of  the  Im 
perial  Government,  he  yet,  by  the  peculiar  force  and  elevation  of 


APPENDIX.  571 

his  genius,  raised  himself  above  all  local  and  selfish  influences,  and 
gave  to  his  poetical  efforts  that  impress  of  natural  and  universal 
feeling  which  renders  them  as  effective  in  moving  the  heart  and 
rousing  the  spirit  of  man  on  the  prairies  of  the  Missouri  as  on 
the  plains  of  the  Wolga,  which  renders  him,  in  the  language  of 
Prince  Wiazemsky,  in  his  Eulogy,  the  poet  of  all  ages  and  all  na 
tions.  This  universal  character  of  his  genius  is  fully  appreciated 
by  the  Russians.  In  the  language  of  the  same  writer,  he  is  the 
poet  of  life  and  nature,  withdrawn  from  himself  into  the  common 
world  of  man,  the  living  painter  of  realities,  who  gives  to  all  ho 
touches  its  full  and  appropriate  glow,  hue,  and  action,  and  that 
with  a  strength  and  fire  which  reaches,  through  all  exterior  en 
velopes,  the  universal  sentiment  of  the  beautiful,  the  great,  and  the 
good.  Derzhavin  is  peculiarly  distinguished  as  a  lyric  poet,  devo 
tional,  didactic,  and  anacreontic,  in  all  which  classes  of  the  ode  he 
has  been  almost  equally  distinguished.  His  forte,  however,  is  the 
moral  and  reflective  sublime,  as  exhibited  in  the  Ode  here  trans 
lated,  which,  with  his  vivid  representation,  has  given  him,  in  the 
Eulogy  of  Wiazemsky,  the  title  of  Philosophic,  as  well  as  Painter 
Poet  (Philosoph,  Zhivopisets,  Poet}.  His  earliest  poetical  effort 
was  an  ode,  written  while  sergeant  in  the  Guards,  and  to  the  ode 
he  continued  to  devote  his  best  efforts,  as  if  conscious  that  there 
lay  his  peculiar  strength  and  prowess.  The  Ode  here  selected,  from 
the  majesty  and  unity  of  its  subject,  as  well  as  the  force  of  its  exe 
cution,  is  generally  considered  his  masterpiece ;  yet  some  give  the 
preference  to  his  Waterfall  (  Wodopad),  also  translated  by  Bowring, 
an  allegorical,  but  more  desultory  picture  of  life,  characterized  as 
well  by  its  depth  of  reflection,  as  its  vividness  of  representation, 
"in  which,"  says  Wiazemsky,  "all  breathes  a  wild  and  fearful 
beauty,  in  which  poetry  has  vanquished  painting,  but  where,  un 
fortunately,  there  is  a  want  of  unity  in  arrangement,  that  evinces, 
what  is  said  to  have  been  the  fact,  that  the  poem  was  composed  of 
fragments,  written  at  different  periods."  The  present  Ode  exhibits 
a  peculiar  combination  of  Scriptural  solemnity  and  reflective  sub 
limity,  with  rapid  energy  of  movement.  The  first  trait  is  aided 
by  the  style,  which  is  rendered  more  solemn  by  the  use  of  words 
and  forms  peculiar  to  the  Old  Slavonic,  the  language  of  the  Scrip 
tures  and  Liturgy  of  the  Russian  Church.  The  peculiar  move 
ment,  aside  from  the  condensed  style,  arises  from  the  peculiar  char 
acter  of  the  verse,  an  octosyllabic  iambic,  in  stanzas  of  ten  lines, 


572  APPENDIX. 

with  alternations  of  double  and  single  rhymes,  or  technically  speak 
ing,  of  hypercatalectic  and  acatalectic  verses.  The  stately  move 
ment  of  the  iambic,  combined  with  the  shortness  of  the  verse,  and 
the  alternate  rebounding  and  full  close  of  the  lines,  leads  to  a 
union  of  dignity  and  impetuosity  scarcely  attainable  in  English 
versification,  from  the  difficulty  of  using  double  rhymes.  I  have, 
however,  attempted  a  metrical  version  of  one  stanza  (the  fifth,  the 
most  picturesque  in  its  character)  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the 

measure  of  the  original 

Bowring,  in  his  translation,  has  selected  a  decasyllabic  iambic 
verse  (the  English  heroic),  and  omitted  the  double  rhymes,  but 
reduced  the  stanza  to  nine  lines,  thus  adding  four  syllables  to  the 
stanza.  The  greater  length,  with  the  uniform  full  accented  close 
of  the  lines,  gives  to  his  verse  a  certain  heaviness  and  monotony  of 
movement,  but  at  the  same  time  a  larger  swell,  perhaps  not  un- 
suited  to  the  change  he  has  wrought  in  the  character  of  the  poem. 
His  translation  I  should  regard  as  more  formal  and  stately,  less 
direct  and  impressive ;  indeed,  compared  with  the  simple  energy  of 
the  original,  inflated  and  declamatory.  The  Russian  language  like 
its  near  relative,  the  Polish,  is  an  inflected  and  derivative  lan 
guage;  hence  it  expresses  the  relations  of  thought  with  fewer 
words,  more  directly,  and  less  paraphrastically  than  a  language 
like  ours.  It  abounds  too  in  long  words  of  inflection,  much  like 
those  of  the  ancient  Greek,  by  which  it  can  complete  its  measures, 
without  using  words  superfluous  to  the  meaning.  In  translating 
from  such  a  language  into  the  English,  fewer  syllables  should  be 
used  in  each  line  or  stanza,  if  one  wishes  to  convey  the  meaning 
of  the  original  without  addition  or  inflation.  Bowring,  by  taking 
a  contrary  course,  has  been  compelled  to  give  rather  a  paraphrase 
than  a  close  and  just  translation.  The  same  was  remarked  by  a 
critic  at  the  time,  of  Wiffen's  Translation  of  Tasso,  in  which  he 
had  rendered  the  eight-lined  stanza  (Ottava  Rima)  of  the  less  con 
densed  Italian,  into  the  nine-lined  Spenserian  stanza,  with  its  con 
cluding  Alexandrine,  in  the  more  condensed  English.  By  compar 
ing  one  of  Bowring's  stanzas  with  the  corresponding  stanza  of  the 
literal  version  below,  the  applicability  of  my  remarks  will  be  better 
perceived.  For  this  purpose  I  have  selected  the  third  stanza.  One 
need  only  read  the  stanza  of  Bowring  here  inserted  to  see  how  far 
he  has  deviated  from  the  original. 


APPENDIX.  573 

"  Thou  from  primeval  nothingness  didst  call 
First  Chaos,  then  existence  ;  — Lord  !  on  Thee 
Eternity  had  its  foundation :  —  all 
Sprung  forth  from  Thee  :  —  of  light,  joy,  harmony, 
Sole  origin  :—  all  life,  all  beauty  Thine. 
Thy  word  created  all,  and  doth  create  ; 
Thy  splendor  fills  all  space  with  rays  divine. 
Thou  art,  and  wert,  and  shall  be  !  Glorious  !  Great ! 
Light-giving,  life-sustaining  Potentate  !  " 

There  are  shades  of  meaning  in  the  original  of  this  stanza,  which 
I  could  not  well  express  in  my  literal  version.  The  author  has 
here  apparently  labored  to  give  the  most  enlarged  idea  of  the  eter 
nity  of  the  Deity,  and  for  this  purpose  has  exhausted  the  resources 
of  his  language.  The  four  first  lines  might  be  rendered :  "  the 
temporary*  (for  a  limited  period  or  point  of  timet)  Present  J  of 
Chaos,  Thou  calledst  forth  from  the  abysses  of  Eternity  || ;  but 
Eternity,  born  before  time  (indefinite)  §  was,  Thou  establishedst 
(didst  found)  in  Thyself/'  Here  the  duration  of  chaos,  itself  in 
definitely  longer  than  that  of  creation  in  its  formed  state,  and 
which  may  be  regarded  as  preceding  and  following  the  latter,  sur 
rounding  its  indefinitely  small  sphere  with  its  own  comparatively 
unlimited  orb,  is  considered  in  relation  to  eternity  as  but  a  momen 
tary  present,  a  point  only.  But  this  eternity,  which  existed  before 
the  commencement  of  the  longest  conceivable  duration  of  time, 
(wiek,  the  correlative  of  the  Greek  cucoi/,  as  wremia,  limited  time,  is 
of  Kaipos,  and  which  governed  by  the  preposition  w,  into  (with  the 
accusative)  (wwiek],  signifies  forever,  as  in  the  last  line  of  the 
present  stanza,)  even  this  eternity,  in  relation  to  the  Deity,  had  its 
birth,  and  was  created  or  established  by  Him  in  Himself.  To  the 
fifth  and  sixth  lines  of  this  stanza,  I  have  given  both  a  free  and  a 
literal  version ;  the  latter  included  in  parenthesis,  more  distinct,  but 
less  energetic  than  the  former. 

The  fourth  line  of  the  ninth  stanza  may  perhaps  excite  surprise, 
from  the  singularity  of  its  expression.  The  translation,  here  given, 
is,  I  believe,  a  literal  rendering  of  the  original,  "  Czerta  naczalna 
Boz/iestwa."  Man  is  here  regarded  as  the  passage  from  the  ma 
terial  to  the  Divine ;  the  point  where  the  former  terminates,  and 
the  latter  commences ;  animal  in  body ;  in  soul  and  intellect, 

How  like  a  God  ! 
*  Dowremennu.      \  Wremia.       \  Bytnost.      \\  Wiecznost.      §  Wiek. 


574  APPENDIX. 

Adopting  the  Scriptural  idea,  that  man  is  made  in  the  Divine 
image,  Derzhavin  has  here  used  the  language  of  art,  and  repre 
sented  man  as  the  first  line  or  stroke  in  delineating  the  portrait 
of  Deity.  The  expression,  if  too  affected  for  the  occasion,  is  at 
least  strongly  significant. 

In  the  specimens  of  the  Eussian  and  Slavonic  here  given,  I  have 
adopted  the  Polish  orthography,  in  which  most  of  the  sounds  of 
their  peculiar  alphabets  can  be  given  by  the  common  English  type, 
and  that  without  as  unsightly  a  display  of  consonants  as  if  the 
English  orthography  were  adopted.  There  is  one  slight  circum 
stance  connected  with  the  name  of  our  author  which,  from  its 
happy  adaptedness  to  the  character  of  his  genius,  is  not  unworthy 
of  notice,  namely,  its  apparent  etymology,  from  derzhawa,  power, 
with  the  termination  in,  one  of  those  belonging  to  proper  names, 
and  designating  country,  condition,  or  calling. 

J.  G.  P. 

GOD. 

0  Thou,  infinite  in  extent ; 

Vital  mover  of  existence  ; 

'Mid  the  flight  of  time  eternal ; 

Without  person,  in  three  persons,  Godhead  ' 

Spirit,  everywhere  existing,  and  yet  one  j 

To  whom  there  is  no  place  nor  cause  ; 

Whom  none  can  comprehend  ; 

Who  fillest  all  with  Thyself, 

Embracest,  establishest,  upholdest  all  5 

Whom  we  call  —  God  ! 

A  lofty  intellect 

May  measure  the  deep  ocean, 

Count  the  sands  and  the  planets'  rays,  — 

But  tor  Thee  there  is  no  weight  nor  measure  ! 

Enlightened  spirits, 

Born  of  Thy  light, 

Cannot  search  out  Thy  judgments  ; 

Thought  hardly  ventures  to  ascend  towards  Thee, 

Ere  it  is  lost  in  Thy  greatness, 

Like  a  moment  dissolved  in  eternity. 

The  momentary  existence  of  Chaos 

Thou  calledst  forth  from  the  abysses  of  Eternity } 

But  Eternity,  born  before  time  was, 

In  Thyself  thou  establishedst : 


APPENDIX.  575 

Self  formed  (forming  Thyself  of  Thyself), 

Self  radiant  (shining  from  Thyself  with  Thyself), 

Thou  light,  whence  light  flowed  ; 

Who  hast  created  all  by  Thy  word  alone  5 

Who  outspreadest  Thyself  in  new  creation  ;. 

Thou  wert,  Thou  art,  Thou  shalt  be  forever  ! 

The  chain  of  being  Thou  embracest  in  Thyself, 

Sustainest,  and  animatest ; 

Thou  linkest  end  with  beginning, 

And  blendest  life  with  death. 

As  sparks  are  scattered  and  fly, 

So  suns  are  born  of  Thee  ; 

As  in  a  cold,  bright  winter's  day, 

Atoms  of  ice  twinkle, 

Revolve,  undulate,  shine  : 

So  stars  in  the  abysses  beneath  Thee. 

Millions  of  kindled  lights 

Float  in  immensity  ; 

They  fulfil  Thy  laws, 

And  pour  vivifying  rays. 

But  those  fiery  lamps, 

Whether  piles  of  glowing  crystals, 

Or  boiling  heaps  of  golden  billows, 

Or  burning  ethers, 

Or  shining  worlds, 

All  are  together  before  Thee  —  as  night  before  day. 

Like  a  drop  sunk  in  the  sea, 

In  all  this  firmament  before  Thee. 

But  what  is  the  Universe  visible  to  me  ? 

And  what  before  Thee  am  I  ? 

In  yonder  aerial  ocean, 

Multiply  worlds,  a  hundred-fold, 

By  million  other  worlds, 

And  that,  if  I  venture  to  compare  it  with  Thee, 

Will  be  scarce  a  point, 

And  I  before  Thee  — nothing  ! 

Nothing  —  but  Thou  shinest  in  me 

With  the  majesty  of  Thy  goodness  }] 

In  me  Thou  imagest  Thyself, 

As  the  sun,  in  a  little  drop  of  water. 

Nothing  —  but  I  feel  life  ; 

With  insatiate  flight, 

I  ever  soar  aloft ; 

My  soul  hopes  that  Thou  art ; 

Inquires,  reflects,  decides. 

I  am  —  Thou  surely  art ' 


576  APPENDIX. 


Thou  art !  —  The  order  of  nature  announces, 

My  heart  declares  it  to  me  } 

My  reason  assures  me, 

Thou  art  —  and  already  I  am  not  nothing  ! 

I,  a  particle  of  the  whole  universe  ; 

I,  placed,  meseems, 

In  that  honorable  mean  of  existence, 

Where  Thou  didst  end  corporeal  creatures, 

Where  Thou  begannest  celestial  spirits, 

And  didst  link  the  chain  of  all  being  by  me. 

I,  bond  of  worlds  everywhere  existing  ; 

I,  last  step  of  the  material ; 

I,  middle  point  of  the  living, 

Initial  stroke  of  Godhead : 

I,  by  my  body,  moulder  in  dust ; 

By  my  intellect,  command  the  thunder : 

I  lord,  I  slave  —  I  worm,  I  God  ! 

But  I,  who  am  so  wonderful, 

Whence  derived  ?  —  I  know  not ; 

But  by  myself  I  could  not  be. 

Thy  creature  I  —  Creator ! 

I  creation  of  Thy  all- wisdom, 

Source  of  life,  Giver  of  good, 

Soul  of  my  soul,  and  Lord  ! 

Thy  truth  required, 

That  my  immortal  being 

Should  cross  the  mortal  abyss  ; 

That  my  spirit  should  be  clad  in  mortality, 

And  that  through  death  I  should  return, 

Father  !  —  to  Thy  immortality. 

Inexplicable !     Incomprehensible ! 

I  know  that  the  imaginations 

Of  my  soul  are  too  weak 

Even  to  sketch  Thy  shadow  ! 

But  if  we  must  sing  Thy  praise, 

Then  it  is  not  possible  for  feeble  mortals 

To  honor  Thee  with  aught  else, 

Than  just  to  rise  towards  Thee, 

Be  lost  in  measureless  complexity, 

And  pour  grateful  tears. 


APPENDIX.  577 

CHAMOUNY  AT  SUNRISE. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OP  FREDERICA  BRUN. 

From  the  deep  shade  of  the  silent  pine  grove 
Trembling  I  see  thee,  Crown  of  Eternity, 
Dazzling  Peak,  from  whose  lofty  summit 
Longing  my  spirit  sweeps  on  through  immensity  ! 

Who  sank  the  column  deep  in  the  womb  of  earth, 
That  firm  has  propped  thy  mass  for  long  thousand  years  ? 
Who  heaved  aloft  in  the  vault  of  ether 
Mighty  and  bold  thy  radiant  forehead! 

Who  poured  you  high  from  the  empire  of  endless  snow, 
Ye  streams  of  jagged  ice,  down  with  the  thunder's  din  ? 
Who  loud  commanded  with  voice  of  Omnipotence  : 
"  Here  shall  repose  the  stiffened  billows  !  " 

Who  pointed  yonder  his  path  to  the  morning  star  ? 
Who  crowns  with  flowers  the  rim  of  eternal  frost  ? 
To  whom  in  terrible  harmonies  echo, 
Savage  Arveiron,  thy  roaring  billows  ? 

Jehovah  !  Jehovah  !  cracks  in  the  bursting  ice  : 
The  lawin's  thunder  rolls  it  deep  down  the  gulf. 
Jehovah  !  sweeps  through  the  gilded  forest  •, 
Jehovah  !  murmurs  the  rippling  silver  brook. 

The  excerpts,  of  which  the  above  are  specimens,  with  his  nu 
merous  translations,  would  easily  fill  a  volume,  and  I  trust  the 
time  may  come  when  they  will  all  be  given  to  the  public. 


25  KK 


578  APPENDIX. 

APPENDIX  J. 

(PAGE  467.) 
THE  ALUMNI  HYMN. 

LINES   SUNG   AT   THE   MEETING    OF   THE   TALE    COLLEGE   ASSO 
CIATION    OF    ALUMNI,    AUGUST    17,  1842. 

TUNE,—  Lenox. 

/~\NCE  more  we  here  unite, 
v-'   Who  long  dispersed  have  been  j 
0  how  it  glads  the  sight, 
To  see  old  Yale  again  ! 

Let  us  conspire, 

With  heart  and  hand, 

To  raise  still  higher 

Our  early  friend. 

Beneath  these  classic  shades 
We  mused  on  ancient  lore. 
That  knowledge  dimly  fades, 
Yet  Memory  brings  her  store 

To  cheer  us  now, 

As  face  to  face 

The  scenes  of  youth 

We  fondly  trace. 

Our  Alma  Mater  calls 
Her  scattered  sons  to  meet 
Once  more  within  her  halls, 
Around  the  master's  seat. 

Let  hearts  now  flow 

In  words  of  fire, 

Our  first,  best  friend 

Must  rise  still  higher  ! 

Our  Alma  Mater  first 
Was  meant  to  form  divines. 
Here  many  a  soul  was  nursed 
That  now  in  glory  shines. 

Here  Stiles  and  Dwight 

First  learned  to  soar, 

Here  won  that  fame 

That  fades  no  more. 


APPENDIX.  579 

The  Healing  Art  now  finds 
Her  Pia  Mater  here  ; 
Her  Dura  Mater  Law 
Here  meets  with  reverent  fear. 

Yet  still  within, 

With  mild  control, 

The  Classics  keep 

The  seat  of  soul. 

Here  Science  too  has  found 
A  true  and  genial  home  5 
Around  this  sacred  ground 
The  Muses  love  to  roam. 

All  interests  here 

May  well  combine 

One  union  wreath 

Of  hearts  to  twine. 

Honor  to  Mother  Yale : 
She  must  forever  stand, 
Though  other  lights  should  fail, 
The  sunlight  of  our  land. 

Sons  of  that  light 

With  zeal  conspire, 

As  one  unite 

To  raise  her  higher  ! 


INDEX. 


ALEXANDER,  Francis,  259,  289,  385. 

Allston,  Washington,  64,  236. 

Alumni  Hymn,  578,  579. 

Andrews,  Prof.  E.  A.,  474. 

Anthology,  Monthly,  63. 

Augur,  Horatio,  328,  347,  350,  465,  468, 

472. 
Authorship,  78,  96,  97,  268. 

Baldwin,  Hon.  R.  S.,  354. 

Ballad,  a  Revolutionary,  452. 

Barnes,  Julius  S.,  M.  D.,  31,  34,  36,  78. 

Barstow,  Gov.  William  A.,  490-511. 

Basque  Language,  309,  339,  340. 

Bonaparte,  character  of,  545  -  548. 

Botany,  early  condition  in  America,  48. 

Brace,  Rev.  Joab,  23. 

Brainard,  John  G.,  68. 

Bronson,  Arthur,  132,  137, 174. 

Brooks,  Maria,  65. 

Brothers  in  Unity,  32. 

Brown,  Charles  Brockden,  64. 

Brownell,  Bishop,  205. 

Bryant,  William  C.,  17,  53,  64,  85, 132, 

233,  237,  247,  289,  290,  451,  459,  460, 

515. 

Buckingham.  J.  T.,  64. 
Buckminster,  Rev.  J.  S.,  64. 

Calhoun,  J.  C.,  65,  179  -  203,  220,  221, 

440. 

Calkins,  E.  A.,  quoted,  491. 
Carter,  J.  G.,  204.  213,  234,  263. 
Chauuiug,  Rev.  W.  E.,  D.  D.,  64,  269- 

271. 

Chamouny  at  sunrise,  577. 
Chauncey  Nathaniel,  68,  124,  554. 
Classification  of  knowledge,  552-559. 
Clay,  Henry,  65. 
Clio  No.  I.,  84-88;   No.  II.,  93,  96, 

111,  112  ;   reviewed  by  Dr.  Gilman, 

113-116. 
Club,  Sing-Song,  426-444;   Percival, 

472,  473. 

Coleridge,  S.  T  ,  65,  66,  248. 
College  education,  405. 


Connecticut  fifty  years  ago,  2,  3. 
Cooper,  James  Fenimore,  64,  88,  132, 

141,  158,  170,171,275. 
Cowper,  65,  71. 
Crabbe,  65. 

Dana,  Richard  H.,  64,  247,  248,  289. 
Dana,  Prof.  James  D.,  376,  377  ;  letter 

of,  418-422. 

Dawes,  Rufus,  204-206,  259. 
Day,  President,  24,  37. 
De  Quincey,  quoted,  247. 
Derzhavin's  Ode  to  God,  570-576. 
De  Vere,  Aubrey,  quoted,  466. 
Drake,  Joseph  Rodman,  64,  65. 
Draper,  Lyman  C.,  385,  499  ;  letter  of, 

508  -  510. 

Dwight,  Henry  E.,  68,  69. 
Dwight,  President,  17,  24,  34,  36,  39, 

Everett,  Edward,  criticism  on  Prome 
theus,  32,  65  ;  on  his  first  volume, 
78,  199,  225,  285. 

Everett,  A.  H.,  327. 

Edwards,  Gov.  H.  W.,  180,  354-371, 
381. 

Ellsworth,  Gov.  W.  W.,  353-373,  379, 
380. 

Editorials  of  Percival,  540  -  548. 

Excerpt,  a  Slavonic,  570  -  576. 

Features,  Percival's,  120,  121,  383. 

Fisher,  Prof.  Alexander,  68. 

Flagg,  George  A.,  374. 

Follen,  Dr.  Charles,  331,  332. 

Fowler,  Prof.  William  0.,  47,  69  ;  remi 
niscences  of,  120  -  134,  139  -  147, 
179  -  203,  206  -  212. 

Francis,  Dr.  J.  W.,  64. 

Freneau,  Philip,  63. 

Genealogy  of  Percival,  521,  522. 
Genius,  544,  545. 

Gilman,  Rev  Samuel,  D  D.,  87  ;  letter 
of,  92-94  ;  criticism  by,  113-115. 


582 


INDEX. 


Geological  survey,  341  ;  of  Connecticut, 

352  -  422  ;    other    surveys,    474 ;    of 

Wisconsin,  490-514. 
Geology,  254,  351. 
Goethe  and  Schiller,  425-431. 
Goodrich,  Prof.  C.  A.,  24,  132,  474. 
Goodrich,  S.  G.,  80,  132,  176,  231. 
Greek   authors,   fragments  from,    568, 

569. 

Green,  Gen.  Buff,  301-304. 
Greene,  Charles  G.,  204. 
Gridley,  Horatio,  M.  1).,  8,  10,  11,  27, 

37,  38,  39,  469. 
Griswold,  Rufus  W.,  468. 

Hale,  Nathan,  222-224,  227,  259. 

Halleck,  Fitz-Greene,  65  ;  letter  of, 
140  -  142,  290. 

Harrison  campaign,  432  -  444. 

Harrison,  President,  444. 

Hart,  Rev.  Seth,  11,  138. 

Hayward,  George,  M.  D.,  205  -  211 ;  let 
ters  to,  213-236,  254-342,  424. 

Herrick,  Edward  C.,  347,  463,  472,  476  ; 
letters  to,  481  -  488. 

Hexameters  from  Homer,  565  -  568. 

Hillhouse,  James  A.,  64,  158,  469. 

Hitchcock,  President  Edward,  351,  378. 

Hooker,  Charles,  M.  D  ,  6.  227. 

Hooker,  Rev.  Horace,  41,  47. 

Howe,  Gen.  Hezekiah,  27,  386,  387, 
476. 

Howe,  S.  G.,  343. 

Huraboldt,  William  von,  quoted,  408. 

Hunter,  Edward  M.,  letter  of,  499-507. 

Ives,  Eli,  M.  D.,  31,  43,  50,  64,  78,  79, 

116. 
Irving,  Washington,  64,  85,  100,  116, 

290. 

James,  G.  P.  R.,  466,  502. 

Jenckes,  J.  L.,  M.  D.,  483-488,  498, 

511-515. 
Jewett,  Pliny  A.,  M.  D.,  464,  470. 

Kingsley,  Prof.  James  L.,  24,  34,  222, 
Knowledge,  classification  of,  552  -  559. 

Languages,  proper  order  in  study  of, 
563  -  565  •,  interest  in,  307  -  320,' 328, 
329,  330-340,  401-405 

Library,  Percival's,  137,  385. 

Literature,  early  American,  63  -  65  ;  iu 
England,  65,  66. 

Littell,  E.,  177. 

Longfellow,  II.  W.,  204,  289,  463. 

Lovell,  Dr.,  179  -  202. 

Lyell,  Sir  Charles,  374  -  379. 

Malte-Brun's  Geography,  208  209,253  ; 
nature  of  hia  work,  277  -  280,  383. 


Microscope,  The,  68  -  72,  102. 

Miller,  John,  177. 

Milton,  255. 

Mithridates  of  Adelung  and  Vater,  235. 

Monson,  Charles,  reminiscences  of,  347  - 

351,  473. 

Moore,  Sheldon,  463,  471. 
Morris,  George  P.,  289. 
Morse,  S.  F.  B.,  158,  172,  385. 
Music,  Scotch,  34. 

Natural  History,  300,  396,  560-562. 

Neal,  John,  411,  412. 

North,   Erasmus   D.,   M.  D.,  382,  461. 

467,  472,  473  ;  letter  to,  511. 
Nosology,  lecture  on,  408-411. 
Noyes,  Benjamin,  reminiscences  of,  475- 

480. 

Ole  Bull,  Ode  to,  449-461. 
Olmsted,  Prof.  Denison,  66,  78,  468. 

Patrick,  S.,  Ode  to,  447,  448. 

Patterson,  D.  Williams,  quoted,  521. 
522. 

Peabody,  Rev.  W  B.  0.,  D.  D.,  310, 311. 

Percival,  James,  M.  D.,  4,  5,  10,  11. 

Percival,  Elizabeth  Hart,  3,  4,  11. 

Percival,  Edwin,  5. 

Percival,  Oswin  H.,  5,  79. 

Percival,  James  Gates,  birth  and  early 
home,  1,  2;  ancestors,  3  ;  notices  out 
ward  nature,  5;  at  school,  5-14  ;  a 
great  reader,  7  ;  amusements,  8  -  10  ; 
prepares  for  college,  11  -  23  ;  early 
poems,  15  -  22  ;  Seasons  of  New  Eng 
land,  26  -30  ;  sensitiveness  of,  7,  32; 
college  life,  25-39, 120-122  ;  studies 
medicine,  40,  41  ;  in  society,  41  -  43  ; 
a  teacher,  47,  48  •,  completes  his  stud 
ies,  49  -  51 ;  lectures  on  anatomy,  53  ; 
a  physician  in  Kensington,  54  ;  dis- 
app  ointed  in  love,  54, 55, 97, 98  ;  men 
tal  distress  and  attempt  at  suicide, 
55-62:  his  first  volume,  67  79;  goes 
to  Charleston,  S.  C.,  79  ;  poetical  trib 
utes  to  him,  81  -  83  ;  lectures  on  bot 
any,  84,  88  ;  second  volume,  84-88  ; 
letters  to  Mr.  Yvonnet,  95-109,  153 
-  1 76  ;  reminiscences  of,  120  -  131  ; 
criticism  of  poems,  135-137;  thinks 
of  holy  orders,  138  ;  becomes  an  ed 
itor,  148  -157  ;  publication  of  select 
ed  poems,  132  - 178  ;  a  gloomy  pe 
riod,  153  -  176  ;  translates  the  Prome 
theus  of  JEschylus,  173,  174  ;  a  Pro 
fessor  at  West  Point,  and  surgeon  at 
Boston,  197  -  202,  220  -  222  ;  writes 
for  periodicals,  204-218..  293,  300, 
330  ;  Phi  Beta  Kappa  poem,  and  crit 
icisms,  222  -  252  ;  Clio  No.  III.,  260  - 
264,  273  -  282  ;  revising  Malte-Brun, 
and  correcting  Webster's  Dictionary, 


INDEX. 


583 


253-306;  his  will,  293;  receives 
proposals  from  Gen.  Duff  Green, 
801  -304  ;  interest  in  languages,  307  - 
320,  328,  329,  331  -  340,  401-405  ;  a 
period  of  poverty,  315  -  325  ;  finds 
relief,  346  ;  his  Credo,  323  ;  sketch  of 
geological  survey,  352  -  422  ;  personal 
appearance,  35,  120,  121,  383  -  385  ; 
reminiscences  of  Prof.  Shepard,  383  - 
417  ;  of  Prof.  Dana,  418  -  422  ;  relig 
ious  views,  269-271,  398-400,  510, 
514,  515  ;  his  diet,  402,  403,  439, 463  ; 
habits  of  composition,  25,  406  ;  writes 
Whig  poetry,  426-444;  interest  in 
music,  350, 431-438, 478 ;  his  last  vol 
ume  of  poetry,  454  -456  ;  criticisms, 
456  -  461 ;  a  period  of  seclusion,  462  - 
480  ;  his  rooms  at  the  hospital,  464  ; 
the  Percival  Club,  472,  473  ;  at  the 
West,  481  -  515  ;  his  house,  484, 485  - 
490  ;  the  Wisconsin  survey,  490  -  514  ; 
illness  and  death,  511  -  515  ;  tributes 
to  his  memory,  515  -  517. 

Phi  Beta  Kappa  Oration  at  Yale,  116, 
131,  523  ;  Poem,  210,  215,  222  -  229  ; 
appointed  as  poet  at  Harvard,  225, 
233  -  236. 

Philosophical  papers,  548  -  559. 

Pierpont,  Rev.  John,  64,  290,  570. 

Pierre,  S.,  quoted,  105. 

Poetry,  opinions  on,  84  -  87,  112,  242  - 
252. 

Portraits  of  Percival,  385. 

Prometheus,  116  ;  Whittier's  criticism 
on,  117,  118  ;  another,  118,  119,  131, 
249. 

Review,   North  American,  63,  65,  78, 

113,  239. 

Robbins,  Rev.  Royal,  8,  55,  56,  90. 
Robinson,  Rev.  John,  of  Leyden,  3. 
Robinson,  Rev.  Edward,  D.  D.,  12,  64, 

423. 
Robinson,  Mrs.  Theresa,  423. 

Schiller  and  Goethe  compared,   425- 

431. 

Shelley,  66. 
Shepard,  Prof.  Charles  U.,  352  -  417. 


Silliman,  Prof.  Benjamin,  33,  52,  64, 
183,  185,  194,  211,  222,  294,  351, 354, 
367,  368,  375,  560. 

Skinner,  Hon.  Aaron  N.,  353,  354. 

Sprague,  Rev.  William  B.,  D.  D.,  35. 

Stone,  Col.  William  L.,  64,  132,  142- 
145,  175,  216,  217  ;  his  son,  142,  146. 

Stuart,  Moses,  64. 

Suicide,  The,  14,  58  -  62,  69, 70,  75. 

Theatre,  The,  540  -  544. 

Ticknor,  Prof.  George,  64,  92,  254,  259, 

300  -  304  ;  letters  to,  312  -  325,  331  - 

339,  341,  342,  374,  424. 
Translations,  kinds  of,  336,  337. 
Tuckerman,  Henry  T  ,  quoted,  516. 
Tuthill,  Cornelius,  68  -  72,  124,  135. 
Tuthill,  Mrs.  Louisa  C.,  letter  of,  67  -  74. 

Underwood,  J.,  M.  D.,  88,  109, 110. 
Unitarianism,  269  -  271. 
United  States,  History  of,  330,  343. 
Upson,  Rev.  Benoni,  D.  D.,  11. 

Walker,   Samuel,  207,  208,   214,  230, 

254-306,441. 
Ward,  Dr..  40,  54. 
Ware,  Rev.  Henry,  Jr.,  239,  258. 
Webster,  Daniel,  65. 
Webster,  Noah,  26,  27,  285,  413,  480. 
Webster,  William  G.,   letter  of,  431  - 

435. 
Webster's    Dictionary,   253,   265-267, 

272,  285-287.  290-292,  474,  475. 
Wheaton,  Rev.  N.  S.,  D.  D.,  25,  26. 
Whitlow,  a  lecturer,  79,  80. 
Whittier,  John  G.,  117. 
Willington,  A.  S.,  80,  89,  90. 
Willis,  N.  P.,  288,  289,  489,  490. 
Willis,   Richard  S.,  reminiscences  of, 

432-438. 

Woodward,  Rev.  Israel  B.,  12. 
Woolsey,  President  Theodore  D.,  468. 
Wordsworth,  65,  66,  248. 

Yale  College,  24,  120,  121,  384,  436. 
Yung  Wing,  468. 

Yvonnet,  James  Lawrence,  88,  94  - 109, 
153  -  176. 


Cambridge  :  Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


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